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How to be Happy.

/ Gin Getz / 8 Comments

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colorado columbine

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Fellow author and blogger, C.M. Mayo, asked me to write a guest post for her blog, Madam Mayo.  I skimmed over her requested requirements, thought to myself, I could never come up with something like that.  What do I know?  And then the answer came to me, and I couldn’t stop writing!

I am no expert at anything. But I am learning a lot, and I’m always game for trying.  What I can’t share are some guaranteed fool proof tried and true methods that I know for certainty and feel the need to teach you, the reader, because I have it all figured out and maybe you don’t.  I don’t either.  So all I can do is share with you what I’m learning.  And maybe we can learn it together. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point.  That’s what it’s all about.

Well, after finishing writing this piece, I took a closer look at the requirements and sample posts, and realized I got it all wrong. I mean, totally.  And I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything else to write about since I was so excited by this. Besides, I don’t think she wants to get political or stir waters, and since my second book addresses climate change from a personal perspective, and climate change is still by some considered a political issue, not a reality, I don’t think she’d want my list of Five Ways to Save the Trees or anything like that.  So, I’m sharing this.

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steph and gin

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The five essential habits of positive people (or how to be happy in five easy steps)

Imagine if there were a few secret ingredients to a happy life.  You know, inside information, words of wisdom shared by the happiest people. The tricks of the trade for the happy. What works for those people who smile a lot, seem comfortable with who they are, love their work, like the people around them, are nice to be around and nice to those around them.  And imagine if we could learn from these people. Because who among us does not wish to be happier?

Say there are a few specific “rules” we can follow to find ourselves happier, what would they be?  They would have to be inspirational, happy, humorous, fun, not preachy, not perfect, things to try for with room to grow and plenty of forgiveness, because we’re human and we always have to try.

It would be about choice.  We can choose happier habits.  Ultimately, we can choose our thoughts, rather than have our thoughts (and emotions) choose our direction.   Not to negate these things – It’s just that most of us need to learn to live with them, keep them in line. Not let our emotions rule us and run our lives.

We can start by following the example of people we admire. People who are trying, against odds, to make the world a better place and find a better place within themselves.  I’m not talking about the happy go lucky folks for whom life’s been just fine and they get through just fine – but never do anything great.  I want to be all I can, try it all, experience life to the fullest.  That means ups and downs. Good times and bad times.  Make mistakes.

If we don’t fall on our face, we haven’t tried to run.  Life’s too short to walk through.  So, every once in a while, run!  Flat out. And maybe you’ll fall. Get back up, dust yourself off, and when your wounds have healed (if you really must wait that long) try again.  “Only those who have had, can lose.”  You can go through life playing it safe.  Make it through to the finish line. Slow, steady.  Nothing fancy, no fan fare, no bells and whistles or even a lot of cheers along the way.  Or you can dance your way through life and sometimes stumble.  If you don’t try to dance, you don’t have to worry about making the wrong moves.  Oh come on. Give it a try. Dance!

Sure, you can’t be happy all the time. That would be ridiculous.  But you can be happier more often.  It’s up to you.

 

  1. Start your day on a positive note.  Here’s one we learned from Zig Ziglar.  Before you even get out of bed, clap your hands and say something wonderful about yourself, your world, and the day you’ve got ahead of you.  Then this one from Louise Hay. Tell yourself you love yourself.  Look in a mirror if you have one and say it to yourself that way.  I don’t, and I live in a small one-room cabin.  If I woke up clapping my hands and talking in the mirror, I think my boys would really worry.  At the very least, I’d wake them up, and those who know me know this:  don’t disturb my mornings. So, I keep it quiet, let them sleep, and try to say these things in my head.
  2. Patience.  Learn to slow down. Let go. Boy this is a hard one for me.  For so many in society where we’re often judged on how busy we pretend to be, but how jam packed we fill our days, placing self value on number of hours worked (though do we stop and think how much we actually accomplish?).  The more we can justify being busy, the better people we think we are.  Or so we are told. Things are changing.  That worked great to develop the modern world, create fast food and Wal-marts, capitalism and consumerism. But it didn’t bring us closer to happiness.  Try meditation, walking, yoga, breathing.  Watch a snowflake fall on your hand and melt.  Sit and wait in the early dark to see the moon clear the horizon (or nearest building).  Listen to the wind or the water or the waves.  Find a tree and hear the leaves rustle.  “Learn to let go. That is the key to happiness.”  –  Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.
  3. Life’s short – eat dessert first.  All these excuse for why not.  Think of all the reason why instead.  Just do it.  Learn to do something new every day.  Never say never.  Don’t let yourself (or someone you love) say “I can’t.”  Go ahead, give it a try.  Now. What are you waiting for?  Don’t bother telling me.  I don’t want to hear.  I want to hear what you want to do, and what you’re doing to get there.  Rather, I want to show me.  Do it.  Come on, dream!
  4. Give. Practice – and expand on – compassion.  Do random acts of kindness. Do something for someone without strings attached every single day.  It doesn’t have to cost money.  It doesn’t have to take much time.  Just share the gifts you already have. You have a lot.  As a writer, I like to share my words.  A cook shares food, a photographer images, a mother comfort – these are the gifts we share, not just to make a living or get the job done or for self importance, acceptance, acknowledgement or reward.  Simply to give what we can. Share your gifts. What gifts can you share?  We all have something special. Creativity, prayer, song.  Think beyond the box.  Or look deep inside. There’s lots there.  Open it up and share it.  I bet there’s plenty to go around.
  5. Have fun, smile, dance.  I don’t have TV.  Last month I finally saw the Ellen Show for the first time while staying at my sister’s house.  Apparently she dances every day.   Right on.  Then there is Ginny, the woman who’s life my next book is based upon.  Dancing in the Wind… There she is, even in her wheelchair.  Dancing.  If she can, I can too.  Do it.  Dance.  It feels really good.  And if you dance like no one’s looking, you can’t help but find yourself be smiling like you mean it.  And yes, chances are, you’ll feel happy.

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trin and dogs

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logan

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steph and homer

 

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trin and rikki

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This is how my mind works.

/ Gin Getz / 3 Comments

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CAT dog goose

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Caught in the middle in a land of extremes.  The silence and solitude of winter now so far away.  Today it’s about moving, shaking, building, banging, people, pleasing, chatting, listening, hearing a road racing with RVs and ATVs and almost forgetting the soft pale rumble I barely hear behind all this motion and commotion that is the Rio Grande.  A certain and steady flow, drawing the line in a crystal clear sparkling swath between a high mountain summer season Mecca and a tranquil hillside of dead and dying trees which is where my heart is lost this time of year.  Disconnected.

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white columbine

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It’s the end of another day spent cleaning cabins, working on our new one, and sharing it all with the steady stream of visitors which summer brings.  I’m going to go running.  The dark clouds that have been building all afternoon suddenly seem more serious and a few fat full heavy drops tap loudly on the metal roof like anticipating fingers on a table top as I’m taking off my work boots and putting on my running shoes.  No matter.  I’m going to run.  I’m going to sneak away from the goose, the tourists, the slowly growing cabin and the pending inevitability of figuring out what to cook for dinner over the old wood cook stove fueled by scraps of wood from the construction site, and appeasing appetites fueled from that construction work.

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cookstove

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Out there in the rain, under a dark sky and through oddly eerie brown blue spruce stripped of needles, some having recently left their load still pale green in patches beneath their slipping bark and along the trail.

An owl calls.  It is that dark.

The dog is in front, beside me, behind me, off in the woods to my left, my right, you never know except then suddenly there he is, as happy and wet and wild as I am and I’m feeling leaping over fallen trees that litter the trail, hair soaking and chest sweating and skinny legs nimbly peddling through wet brush.

I return to the baby cheeps of the goose on the top of the cliff above the river, looking down at me where I’m crossing – calling me home.  He the wild thing, and me the domesticated. But for right now, it all feels upside down in the soaked state of summer rains in the high country.

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The Last of the Living Blue Cover cover

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Dear Readers:  In case you have not yet had the time, please be sure to put these books on your Summer Reading List:  The Color of the Wild and The Last of the Living Blue.  And when you have finished reading them, and I shall sincerely hope enjoyed them, please take an extra few moment (really, that’s all it takes!) and post a review on Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, GoodReads, social media… where ever you feel comfortable, for reviews do matter and really do help!

And Reviewers:  Those of you who requested and received a review copy. I hope you have read or are reading… and truly hope you enjoy!  When you can, please take a moment to post your review.  A huge THANK YOU to those who already have.

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bob's board

 

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framing first window

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first window~

Growing up.

The new house.  Not me. Though sometimes it feels one in the same.  Solid roots.  Walls.  The Real Deal. (My boys may cringe at that one.)

This week brought walls slowly rising.  Milling our own rough cut lumber.  Framing out the first windows.  Looking out.  Looking in.  Knowing now what that view will be like…  Not too bad.  Slow birth of a home, coming to life.

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Peeling logs.  Each a work of art.  New life to dead trees.

The culprit revealed as we chip off the bark and grind smooth the knots and corners.

Life among the beetles.  A couple years ago, we didn’t know what one looked like.  Now we crush them with our hand tools as we wrestle each log in place, flick them from each other’s shirts, shake them from our hair, brush them off the log surface before we draw the line to make the measure that will mark the cut for the next part of the wall to the ever growing home.  Did you know they bite?  Maybe after working on the mill and peeling logs and sweeping up sawdust, I smell enough like a tree that they give me a go.  We watch their random flight paths in the low light of evening as we pack up our tools and call it a day.

What will be the fate of the last living blue?

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bark beetle

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This is how my mind works.  In random bursts. In colors red and gold then stormy steel grey, light and dark, warm and cold, getting colder. Discipline of body, of ritual, of ways to work.  But not in peace of mind.  You can’t really call me steady, level, even.

I leave you with this to consider.

A Rumi a dear friend shared with me yesterday:

 

Run from what is comfortable

Forget safety

Live where you fear to live

I have tried prudent living long enough

From now on I’ll be mad.

 

Don’t forget the power of anger.  Use it wisely. On one hand, it can eat you alive.  On the other, it can feed you.  Fuel the fire of inevitable change.

 

Nothing stays the same.

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Progress to date.

/ Gin Getz / 15 Comments

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construction above the rio grande

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This post is all about progress on our home.  Sharing the details to date. For those who care, are curious, and/or want to learn. Log Cabin Building 101 and then some. Let me start by telling you this.  This is no Little Cabin. We’re doing it all to code.  It’s solid, seemingly complicated and overkill at times, but it sure as heck is going to out last us all.  And boy-oh-boy are we learning along way.  Sometime more than I cared to or thought I needed to know.  I still have this thing about simple.  Funny thing is, elaborate and grande as it seems to us, it’s still so simple to some people’s standards for a high mountain, year-round full-time home for three.

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fun

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So, here it is.  Custom log home building at it’s funnest.  A family affair.  A home built by us, for us, with love.  Evolving…

In the meanwhile, it’s business as usual in the other cabins as the guest ranch is up and running, we’re camping out in the Little Cabin, and life is good.  Simple.  Well, sort of. Best not get me started…

Where were we last time I shared an update?  The ground was dug out, a level spot excavated, footer set and poured, stem walls formed, in-floor heating coils laid out and slab for the shop smoothed out. Then we set the floor joists…  All this just to get started and have a helluva crawl space.  Then again, I am looking forward to indoor plumbing once again, so whatever it takes, I guess.

Next, the sub-floor is laid out and oiled.

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subfloor

 

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putting down subfloor

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oil plywood

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Then it’s time for the logs.  First, we have to get them from our stock pile of those beetle kill trees we harvested from our land across the frozen river over winter.  Secret weapons include:  Lee’s borrowed crane, Bob’s new CAT, Todd and Barbara (seriously, where did you guys come from, and at just the right moment?), and my magnificent work crew (husband and son).

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logs from river

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getting logs up

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ellen's picture

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Thanks, Ellen, for sharing the great perspective on that last shot!

Okay, so once the logs are up, then they get moved by (borrowed) crane to (borrowed) mill.

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boy at work

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crane work

 

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crane to mill~

mill

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the mill

 

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milled log~

From there, with help of the crane, these solid “logs” are put in place. Each one is milled two, three or four sided as need be.  We’re doing custom, traditional “butt and pass” log construction. Base logs average a whopping 16 inches plus wide.  We’ll be warm.

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solid

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butt and pass

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And there you have it.  The base logs are set.  Walls are defined (of the first floor, at least). Time for movin’ on up!

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looking north

 

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main room over river

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work site~

north wall and bedroom

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south wall~

view down to river~

Really, I swear I do more than take pictures (and feed the crew).  No comments about the chicken legs, please.

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peeling

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I can’t thank enough those who have shared so much with us already – their mill, their crane, their crane operating expertise (and great company), their support, encouragement and enthusiasm… but I will try: THANK YOU.

Now, onto raising the walls.  This is the fun part.  It’s all fun. The best part is simply being here together, working with the best work crew in the world.  My husband and son.

Not a bad place to work either.

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view southeast

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Oh, and one last note, speaking about growth and progress.  Rikki… Then and now…

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rikki

 

 

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Good News.

/ Gin Getz / 10 Comments

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new growth on spruce tree

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Wow!  We’re live on Amazon!

The Last of the Living Blue is available NOW– in paperback and Kindle. Amazing – three days ahead of schedule!

Okay, Reviewers: Now you can post your reviews!  Please, when you can… your help is so appreciated and truly needed.

And speaking of Reviewers:

Sammie has wonderfully offered to extend the opportunity:  A free paperback copy of The Last of the Living Blue in exchange for posting a review.  If you would like to take her up on this very generous offer, please write her at sammie@norlightspress.com, and be sure to give her your mailing address. Sammie is super – there are no strings attached – this is just a way of spreading the word, sharing, and generating more interest for a book we both believe in. Seriously, reviews do matter.  Please take the time to share and post.  Most importantly, I hope you read this new book, and I hope you love it.

I’m told you’re not supposed to get too attached to your work.  Too late.  I am.  It is a part of me.  It is my gift to you.

This one matters so much to me.  This one is for the trees…

Thank you all for your kindness and support, for reading, sharing, listening, inspiring… I am just so happy right now!  Thank you!!!

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beetle kill

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Giveaways!

/ Gin Getz / 6 Comments

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The Last of the Living Blue Cover

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Hi friends. Here are a couple of neat opportunities for getting a free copy of my next book, the soon to be released The Last of the Living Blue!

First, my publisher, Sammie of NorLights Press, is offering a release day promotion.  For the first ten people who contact her directly, she will send a hard copy of the paperback book in exchange for posting a review.

Please write Sammie at sammie@norlightspress.com.

Second, GoodReads is running a Giveaway from now through the first of July.  You can sign up by following this link, but remember, you have to be a member of GoodReads to enter.

Reviews are so essential for spreading the word, and we’re pretty certain this book is going to be a great one.  So the more copies of the book we can get out there, and reviews coming in, the better for us all.

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cover

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Less than a week away!

Have you read the first book yet?

(You can order it here on Amazon, or better yet, please support your local bookstores!)

Good luck, and happy reading!

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gunnar and rikki~

iris under pole~

 

PS.  A quick note and afterthought on Reviews.

Reviews matter. They are important numbers our industry (books/publishing) base our success upon.  They help other readers find books, choose books.  But they need not be elaborate or fancy.  Some are. That’s great.  Some aren’t.  And that’s great too.  Not everyone wants to read a long one (or write a long one).  Although those long one do help the curious book explorer understand their selection well, those short and to the point ones matter too.  One of my favorites, from reviewer Lisa:  “Damn good read.”  That works for me!

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It’s about me.

/ Gin Getz / 12 Comments

It’s about me.

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red columbine

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I’m on the steep grass hillside up the Ute Ridge trail looking north.  Gunnar is next to me, sitting, watching.  Haven’t seen another person since I left the ranch. There are big fat clouds randomly shading the open expanse of water and the cradling hills on either side.  Not dark clouds.  They hold no weight.  I don’t think it’s going to rain.  With all this wind whipping the earth dry again, I sort of wish it would. I packed a jacket just in case. You can’t see far.  The last mountain range is blurring into obscurity by blown up sands or silt from the charred hillsides down river.

I think the last time I was here was when we silently watched the smoldering remains of the Papoose Fire on the other side of the Rio Grande Reservoir.  Seems like a long time ago.  This time last year. There were no cars on the road when I looked down then like there are now, leaving a trail of pale brown dust in their wake long after they have passed.

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rio grande reservoir

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Random notes on the Season and Life.

Big snow banks getting small.  The river is going down. Now it’s as high as I’ve ever seen high waters in the dozen years before this. June winds so strong we hope the outhouse doesn’t blow over again. My skin is wind burned and eyes are bloodshot from working out there in it all day and there is too much to do to stay inside.

Progress on the new cabin.  The floor joists are measured carefully, cut in the wind with sawdust flying, and securely screwed in place, blocked and insulated. I can’t wait to start with the logs.  Almost there…

We’re a good team.  Not a day passes without my thinking I’m the luckiest lady alive to be out their building a home with my boys.  A real home this time.

Nineteen degrees in the morning and those spectacular wild iris on pasture froze, gave up and surrendered, folding over purple face down.  Up here, it’s hard on wildlife, harder still to garden.

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wild iris b&w

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Roaring wind and raging

water

 

A fervent embrace

From the wild beast

within

 

While around me

Remains of last

season

 

Circle about courting me

In a whirlwind dance

Of tangled life and

death

 

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remains

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Before me on the little table that contains three steaming coffee cups, remnants of last night’s dinner, our open laptap computers, and promises of the breakfast to come. And in that clutter, my proof copy of The Last of the Living Blue!  It’s beautiful – what a wonderful job NorLights Press has done again.  Thank you, Sammie. Some time between setting the plywood over floor joists and riding in to check the ditch, I’ll read (at least, skim) it over one more time (yes, one more damn time… by tomorrow) and then off it goes to press.  Yippeee!

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pole mountain

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Oh, so that part about me?

Well, it started with this.

At the Tattered Cover event last week where I was promoting my first book, The Color of the Wild. The event, on a side note, and much to my surprise, was quite fun.  A super big THANK YOU to all those who joined me, turned out, showed support, listen and talked with me, and to the many wonderful new faces I was able to meet.  Anyway, in the presentation, I touched on this, with regards to writing memoir:

“Memoir is a medium for sharing intimate views – in my case, besides my views of nature, I share glimpses into personal issues, losses, pain, sadness.   And growth and good stuff too.  Memoir allows introspection both for the reader and the writer… Sharing your world, exposing oneself, bleeding with words on paper…  Ultimately, it all ends up being about words.  I want my words to sound good.  I want my writing to read well aloud.

“Yes, the story is about me.  It’s my story, my view.

“On the other hand, memoir opens odd doors of others hoping/wishing/assuming it’s about them, so you learn to leave their concerns and comments behind, and focus on what you set out to do.”

Bottom line:  This is my story.  And most importantly, I hope, a well written one.

Alas, here I am with my second book coming out end of the month, something I humbly consider an achievement and accomplishment, and from what I’m seeing in the reviews and reception, it is well done. But around these parts, I’m more likely to hear, “Oh no, you’ve written another book” rather than “Right on, you’ve written another book.” Interesting.  So much for celebrating and sharing in your victories. Sad but true.

The truth comes out. Who really cares about you? And… what kind of people are they, anyway?

Fortunately, part of growing up is choosing. I’m so grateful for the loving, caring, supportive family, friends and readers I do chose, and who have chosen me. Thank you.  If I haven’t told you all before, I’m also so thankful for the kind notes those who have been touched by my writing have taken the time to share with me.  That is the reason we write, share our words and world.  That makes it all worthwhile.

Maybe you have heard that blood is thicker than water, as if that would solve matters, demand forgiveness, and make dysfunctional families okay.  It doesn’t work for me. I can’t help but wonder: Since when is thick a good thing, a compliment, something to strive for, a positive personal quality?

Sometimes, blood is simply stickier than water.  Know when to wash your hands.

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moon rise

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A Request for Reviewers!

/ Gin Getz / 13 Comments

The Last of the Living Blue Cover

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Readers – and Reviewers – Wanted!

I’m looking for a few willing and able readers.  If you are interested in receiving an advance reviewers’ pdf copy of The Last of the Living Blue in exchange for posting/sharing honest reviews (on Amazon, GoodReads, etc.) please e-mail me directly at gingetz at gmail dot com. I would so appreciate your help, and sincerely hope you will enjoy.

Please remember.  Not every book is for every person.  I’m a nature writer and memoir writer.  If your thing is romance or sci-fi or erotica, don’t waste your time (or mine). I mean no offence to those genres. That’s just not what I write. (This comes after getting my first bad review – from a woman who has a Playboy bunny symbol as her portrait picture. What a surprise.  She won a copy of my book, so she read it.  Well, I suppose I should be happy she read it… )

Oh, and the new cover… What do you think?  I would love to hear your feedback.

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rain on spring willow

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Anyway, today it’s all business (well, mostly…) and self promotion. Please bear with me.  It’s all good stuff.

The biggest of course is this. The release of The Last of the Living Blue is scheduled for the end of the month.  The cover is completed, the layout is laid out, and the team at NorLights Press is once again jumping through flaming hoops (well, no, not really, but I imagine they feel like it at the end of some days) to get this done, and beautifully.

If you’re one of those wondering how lucky I am to have two books out in one year, yes indeed, I am feeling very lucky, but please remember this.  The first one took me five years and a stack a mile high (or so it felt) of rejection letters.  And all along I remembered this. Something I once read.  Forget the rejection letters and keep on writing. So I did.  You can too.  Writing or riding, dancing or drawing, or what ever it is you’ve been dreaming about.

Writing is my dream.  (Part of it.)  I’m still somewhat in shock that people actually read what I write…

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rainbow

 

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Well, let me tell you a little bit about The Last of the Living Blue:

“The Last of the Living Blue (scheduled for release June 30, 2014 by NorLights Press) is an intimate, intense personal account of the effects of our changing climate in our big back yard, Colorado’s majestic mountains and the Weminuche Wilderness.  It reads close and comfortable, though the times it takes you through are often anything but.  It’s real and raw, told in a soft yet powerful voice, taking the reader along through one year of drought, fires, floods and the healing of mountain and mind.

“This beautifully told story addresses a matter of utmost concern from a unique perspective and in a quiet yet captivating tone. The Last of the Living Blue is an unusual approach to addressing the effects of climate change upon our beautiful world, one tree at a time. Neither a preachy lecture, nor a “everything’s peachy” scenario, you’ll find yourself enchanted with Gin’s prose, poetry and storytelling as she open up her world to us and shares with the reader in stunning words what she sees.”

 

What people are already saying about The Last of the Living Blue:

“How does somebody hear a forest unraveling? How can she see a mountain sighing? With the patience of a predator and the melancholy notes of an autumn breeze, The Last of the Living Blue brings to us what is hidden before our eyes, disturbing yet enduringly beautiful. In a world careening recklessly over the speed limit, Gin Getz’s ‘quiet voice singing’ is worth stopping to hear.”

— Daniel Glick, author of Monkey Dancing: A Father, Two Kids, and a Journey to the Ends of    the Earth (Public Affairs)

 

“Gin Getz writes exquisite prose about life on the mountain and at the headwaters of the Rio Grande. This is a passionate book: by a woman, for all that she loves intensely. And that’s a lot. This is a beautiful book to read.”

— Harold Rhenisch, author of Motherstone: British Columbia’s Volcanic Plateau

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lady slipper

 

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A special thanks to Donna McBroom-Theriot for sharing such a wonderful review of The Color of the Wild on her fantastic web site:  My Life, One Story at a Time.

For all those folks who have asked if I have books on hand for sale, I do not.  I prefer supporting local book sellers.  Of course the book is available on-line at Amazon and Barnes & Nobles but if you can buy local, please do.  The Color of the Wild is currently available in Lake City at Timberline Craftsman, and in Creede at San Juan Sports.  Two stores you definitely should visit if you’re in or passing through this part of Colorado.

Oh, and speaking of local bookstores…

For those of you in or near the Denver area, if you’re around Thursday evening, please stop by the Tattered Cover (Historic LoDo location) at 7 pm.  I’ll be presenting a talk, reading and slide show based on my work and world. I’d love to see you, meet you, and share with you there. (I would also really appreciate your support!)  I think it will be fun, but I’m honestly more than a little nervous.

And… although talking is not usually my thing, I’ll be speaking with the fabulous Irene Rawlings for a radio interview before the Tattered Cover event.  I’ll let you know (probably via Facebook) when the interview will be aired. Can’t wait to meet her!

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floor joists

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On other fronts, house building is progressing. Slowly but surely. The rain, hail and snow slowed us a down a little (as did the mud stuck to our boots), but the footer and foundation are complete.  My roots are in the Earth.

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gunnar and goose

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After words.

/ Gin Getz / 23 Comments

Yes, lots happening.  It’s Spring.  You know. Same for so many of you.

Among a lot of other good things, the final editing of The Last of the Living Blue is underway, and we’re now completing the Afterwards.  This may be part of it. And even if we cut it, I would like to share this with you now.

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friday

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friday 2

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I’m down at the building site where the snow from the latest storm just melted and the clay of the cut open earth sticks to my boots like concrete. The foundation is poured.  When the ground dries and cement cures, we’ll be back at it.  Next with the logs which have sat dormant for the remainder of winter awaiting their fate.  Becoming home.

At my feet is a gosling. A fluffy yellow and grey critter that at only a few days old swims across the creeks I jump. He showed up in the middle of the work site when we were setting forms.  With a steep cliff down to the river on three sides, and the gravel road and torn up ground on the forth, how did he end up here, on this high harsh bluff above the Rio with no sign of other geese close by? Forrest heads off to explore the ravines and finds no potential parents, siblings or nest.

You don’t want to interfere.  You want to let the wilds be wild.  But you can’t just turn your back, walk away, knowing what its fate would be. I think that’s why they make babies so cute.  You’re going to do all you can to care for them. Against all logic and principles and belief in non-interference. How do you draw the line at compassion?  You don’t.  So you have a baby goose in your house and find yourself cutting dandelion greens and walking to feed the horses very, very slowly so the little guy can keep up.

A friend tells me it must be a sign.  Neither of us know what he might symbolize but you get the feeling it must be something, for some reason, for you can’t help but wonder why here?  Why now?  After having him in our lives for several days and becoming rather attached to the little stinker, I’d say the message he brings us probably has something to do with patience, love, slowing down and nurturing.  He sleeps between Forrest’s feet at meal time and when I don’t feel like walking so slowly, Bob’s got him on his lap when I head out to take care of chores. I swear your blood pressure drops when he chirps sleepily on your lap.

I don’t have time for this, I want to say. Grinding chicken food, picking greens, carrying him about and cleaning up after him. Make time, my friend says.  I know. She’s right.  So there he is now, tucked into my vest, cheeping softly while I write.

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gunnar's goose 3

 

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gunnar's goose

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Another May comes, is almost gone.  The foundation for our home is laid.  Concrete in the earth.  A sense of permanence, wanting, needing to belong. These are my roots.  Solid, grey, thick footers.  Something to hold me down, connect me further with the land.  Something to remain long after I am gone, my son and his family, generations thereafter.  Long after the scattered seeds of the blue spruce turn into a forest of new growth, and the new some day turns old.

~

norman

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This season has been one of strewn spring snows. The river roars rich and brown and the reservoir is higher than I have ever seen it.  It feels healthy. The grass on pasture is already lush enough that the horses hesitate when I call them in for hay. We no longer talk in terms of drought and fire bans and fear of lightning.  We think we’re off the hook.  It’s over.  Long gone.  The treed hillsides even look green.  Am I seeing things?  Sometimes we see what we want to see.

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leaves 2

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The season begins. Traffic on the road (well, at least a few motors a day), summer homes dusted out, smoke from other chimneys, voices at the trailhead.  Even the UPS trucks drives in (and once again, a welcome sight).

I feel lost and need to find myself again.  It is hard after a winter of silence and solitude.  I try.  I want to try harder but then find myself worn thin because I’m so tired of trying and I am left wishing it would all come naturally and it never does.

There is an emptiness and detachment that comes over me as I lose the voice of the trees around this time every year when the air is filled with people things.

I think of the conversation I had with a colleague last week who tells me he finds equal beauty in man and nature, and is fascinated by the precarious balance and blending between the two.  A relationship, a dance of life.

Why can’t I see the beauty in this interconnection?  Why do I too often see the fault?

Finding balance in this land of extremes.

~

stellers jay

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A walk through the trees to Sweetgrass Meadow and I’m looking for the truth.  I’m looking for answers.  Is it over?

I stop to rest, sitting on a fallen tree alongside the edge of a small clearing.  If you look up to the top of the north facing slope, it’s a hillside of grey and brown blue spruce.  Down at the edge of the clearing, many trees are still green.

Here, I am close.  In them.  With them. Among my beloved blue spruce. I sit silently, look closely.

Behind green needles, I see clear fresh sap dripping from slipping bark like so many tears.

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sap

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Has it ended?  This wrath of beetles that devastated our forest. Has it finished its destruction?

Is the drought over?  Is the aquifer refilled? Fire danger a thing of the past? I know the million acres of dead trees won’t return to life, but what about the ones left living?  And what about the beetles? After such a mild winter, I wonder.

I want to believe it’s over.  The spruce trees around the ranch and at the edge of the opens meadows across river are still green.  I have not yet seen a bark beetle. With all this moisture, this beautiful spring, surely everything will be okay, I tell myself.

If I am to have blind faith, I shall find it in the wind and wilds.

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sunday morn 2

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sunday morn 3

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Good stuff.

/ Gin Getz / 22 Comments

Good Stuff.

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earth

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Breaking Ground

This is big news.  Yes, you got it. Ground breaking news.  Progress on our new home.  We started with the logs, harvesting the beetle kill from our land across river in winter. Dragging dead trees across the frozen waters for their next life of becoming a part of our future home.

Now the foundation begins.

Down on the exposed bluff above the Rio Grande, the bulldozer breaks ground.  Earth is moved to make way for what will be our home.  A hard, harsh cut gouged deep into fragile soil.  I stand in the pit and place my hands upon the layers of soil that took maybe  millions of years to amass and here we are moving them all in one day.  I find myself crying.  I think these are happy tears.  We have waited a long time for this.  There are many, many dreams tied into this one pile of dirt.

On one hand, I ask forgiveness for the land for such disturbance.  We try to live simply, modestly, carefully.  On the other hand, I see how we will be even more connected, grounded, a part of each other, with our home a part of the land, in the earth, partially buried and within these millions of years of creation.

I’ll need to keep that in mind when it seems some days like progress is going slowly.

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bob and gunnar

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All in all, it’s been a wonderful, crazy, busy week and looks like many more not only in the future, but here and now.  Better get used to it. Coffee is good.  Sleep is over rated.  Jogging takes less time than walking.  We’re running around finishing up projects on the guest cabins before the season opens, and Bob points to the plastic lawn chair next to the one he’s sitting in.

“Too busy to sit and enjoy the day?” he asks me.

I know.  He’s right.  I sit.  A full minute, shifting my focus and tapping my leg and completely missing out on the view before me of the full creek, greening pasture, and horses lying about lazily.  I know I’m not supposed to do that.  I’m supposed to be here and now.  But here and now, I’ve got things to do.  Things I want to do.  Good things.  Okay?

“Can I go now?” I get up.  I’m ready to get back to work.

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last years cinquefoil

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Announcing a new book.

Over the weekend, I signed the publishing contract for my next book, The Last of the Living Blue, to be release June 30th by NorLights Press. I feel very, very blessed.

I think what makes me as happy, maybe happier, than having my publisher believe in me (when now that I’m revamping and working on the final draft, I’m wondering why and how she did when I see how much work it needs!  Thank you, Sammie, for trusting me, and may I not let you down.) is the incredible support and warm reception I received from so many of you upon sharing the good news.   Thank you!

I’ll keep you all posted on progress as we countdown to the release date.

~

reservoir

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Just when you thought the ground was drying out.  Just when you thought “watering the lawn” sounded like a good idea but you don’t have sprinklers or a lawn, just a sub irrigated pasture that needs surface moisture from time to time to grow good grass for the horses.  Just when you started to worry about fires and drought and all those things we DO need to worry about here surrounded by half a million acres of dead and dying trees due to bark beetles.

Suddenly, more snow!

No, it won’t kill the beetles.  It won’t bring our trees back to life. But it does help the grass grow and gives us a great excuse to catch up on indoor work today.

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spring storm

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Alas, I find a reason to go out there, in it.  It’s beautiful.  It’s fun.  Anything’s better than sitting around staring at a screen! However, that does bring me to this:

Apologies, friends, family, readers, those who reach out and write to me, for being so slow to respond this past week.  It has been a crazy, wonderful, busy week.  Please know you matter so much to me.  As I wrote to fellow blogger and friend, Carrie of The Shady Tree, I may be the world’s worst “blogger”  and that’s okay  because you know I never liked that word or title anyway.  Blogger.  Yuck. Anyway, you know the last thing I want is more time in front of the computer.  Writing already takes up so much time.  And when I’m done, I’m outta here! The last thing I want to do is spend more time sitting in front the back lit screen when I could be out there… There is so much out there!

How do you get it all done?  I don’t want to settle for “good enough.”

“Trust,” Ginny tells me.  And I trust it all happens in the right time, and in the meanwhile, do all I can to make it happen.

(“Dance,” she says too, as she raises her arms wide with a wonderful smile on her face like she hears the music and all the while she’s sitting in the wheelchair but you’re pretty sure any minute now she’ll burst out dancing.  Yes, I definitely should dance more!)

And speaking of Ginny.  Dancing in the Wind, a tale of two Virginias, will be put on “back burner” until after the finishing touches of Living Blue are complete.  Then we’ll give it all we got, and we got a lot. Can’t wait to share this one with you all.

That novel too may take longer than I expected.  And, I wonder, when will I find time to fit in the poetry project?  I’m not sure, but somehow I feel certain it all will come together.  It is all coming together!

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willow branches

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On a side note.

A new long-distance friend is starting up a most interesting business, and I think her idea is so fun, so fantastic, I wanted to share this with you. Jill is combining the opportunity to make new friends, enjoy the great outdoors, and talk books. Sorry, guys, this one’s not for you.  Ladies, please check out Outdoor Book Club.

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horses in snow

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And Stuff

The ethics involved in consumerism.  Otherwise known as:  A confession.

Last week found me in the big city. Denver.  Smaller and warmer and friendlier than what I used to call “The Big City,” though lacking the unmistakable diversity, culture, chaos and intense vibe of New York. Which was fun back then, and still I crave in small (very small) doses from time to time.

I had not left the mountain since last November at which time I went to Lake City and had lunch with a friend in the only restaurant opened “off season.” This means, nearly six months of missing (as in not having been there, not as in longing for) town, telephone, traffic and putting on clean boots. This also means I had not touched cold, hard cash in a good long while.  In fact, I had not even opened my wallet, which is why it came as a big surprise when I finally did and saw that my driver’s license had expired.  Whoops.

I realize how spoiled, lucky (or dare I say… smart – ha ha!) I am to have built such a simple, quiet life.  I’m busy, I get a lot done, there’s more than enough work, but I’m here.  And the rest, I can do without.  Maybe I might miss out on fun stuff like nights out on the town, talking on the phone, Starbucks coffee and travel, but this is what keeps me sane. And even then…

Love kids as I do, I would have made a really cruddy soccer mom.

Downsizing, simplifying…  These things matter to me.  I actually try to have less.  I don’t want to be a part of the Fattening of Society.  I don’t just mean the waist lines of the people.  I mean the wallets, the debts, the amassed good, the expanding feeling of needing more, or deserving more.  I want less.  Of “things.”  Stuff.  Consumerism.  Spending.  I want more time in nature, with my boys, writing, taking pictures, dreaming.  Yes, I want time to dream.  I want slighter debt, fewer possession, less stuff, a smaller house to clean and fewer clothes to wash. A basic diet, nothing fancy, simple food is just fine, and, crazy as it sounds, comfortable shoes. Being in the city reminds me of this every time.

My escapades took me of course to the thrift shop, where I was able to find my new summer wardrobe and a few things for my son for less than the cost of a pair of new jeans.

And then, yes, the big confession.  I found myself at Wal-Mart.  Shopping.  No one to blame but myself. It was my idea.  Here’s why.  It’s cheap.  I justify my horrid behavior by knowing I’m saving myself money.  Saving myself while messing up the world? It’s hypocritical.  It’s wrong.  Believe me, I know. Supporting maybe slave labor in China or something totally terrible.  Tell me how do they do this when a new pillow case cost less at Wal-Mart than it did at the thrift shop?  How to they grow the cotton, harvest, process, dye, mill, sew and ship it all the way from China to Colorado for a buck fifty and make a profit?  Who, I should ask, makes a profit, and who is losing out?  This is crazy. And here I am supporting it.  Feeling guilty, but secretly grateful for the prices.  What’s a person to do?

~

carmichael and gunnar

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Paring of the soul.

/ Gin Getz / 7 Comments

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spring mountain

 

~

 

paring of the soul

 

in simple season

of waxing moon and warming flesh

mornings hardly frozen

 

and  air loud with crow and Steller’s Jay

and the shrill whistle of Redwing blackbird

and down by the river

 

standing on the bluff

where our home one day will be

dreaming

 

of foundation and roots and solid walls

containing confining comforting

and so many years of stories to patina the blued wood

 

a solitary goose flies low

below us

above the river

 

he follows the course to who knows

where or why

or what he seeks only to move to

 

someplace else as the sun takes its turn

lower in the sky

and I wonder what impels him on

 

when all I do is look for a place to remain

 

~

 

leaves

 

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leaves 2

 

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Spring air crossing snow covered Divide whips cold across our pasture freshly open promising moist and green at least for a little while.  Out there, bitten by the wind I swear I smell the sweetness of flowers.  I am certain. From where does this fragrance come?  I picture lands lush and rose bushes and lilacs and hollyhocks and marigold flourishing. Here I find pleasure in dandelions and wild iris and the delicate petals and defiant stalks of the wild rose, each short lived as every season but winter is.  Little more can grow though who would I be if I didn’t try so every year I do.  Last year the tomato plants I bought with fruit already set produced two fruit and the zucchini plants gifted us with eight tiny fingerlings of the most precious bounty I sliced and sautéed in butter and served alongside fresh bread and was wanting for nothing more that night. Such a treat we had not tasted in so long because they birthed before the frost that turned the big broad leaves to mush.

 

We prepare the Little Cabin for another season there beside the river. The one-room cabin dragged away from the guest cabins to a part of the mountain without history, herstories, tales or roots, ready for us to grow our own.  Our lives pending  another move.  And from the humble front door of the little log cabin we’ll call home once again, we shall watch mud  transform and sprout new life.

Our new home.

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R&R 1

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News for now…

Just out this weekend, A unique take on an interview and article I had the pleasure to write on the wonderful, charming, handsome, and very talented Texas bit & spur maker Daylan Nixon featured in the newest issue (4.1) of Ranch & Reata magazine.

The interview with Indie House Books posted this weekend was fun.  You can still read that here.

A bunch of visitors this weekend, so nice to see those who took the time to visit –  but no one willing to pose for a portrait. Thus, these.  (I will learn not to give up on the people so easily next time…)

~

norman

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Bayjura

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From a conversation on Womanhood…

Deep felt thanks to a friend who opened up with me a conversation on womanhood.  No, I should write that with a capital:  Womanhood. That’s better.

Who was born intimately understanding their feminine side and comfortable with what they found?  The few I thought who did, what did they do with what they had and what more did they find? Those that took time to deny or be denied, dive into the depths and ask questions… they found very interesting answers…

Years ago in art school, I did a piece I called “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”  A large flowery clay most feminine of female body parts decorated in gaudy rhinestones and set into a deep box like a casket with a glass lid.  It won first place so at the award ceremony a picture went up in the auditorium on the big projector screen and I swear the whole room started to blush.  Few are comfortable with the feminine side.

There are few leaders, women to follow, women willing and able to show us how.  If there are many, I’m missing something, for I have found their presence and reaching out/responding rare. I’m obsessed with the concept of mentoring – I don’t feel qualified yet – I’m too young (funny thing to say at 47, some of you will may say), not experienced enough and just don’t feel ripe – I’m still looking for mentors for me.  Stop looking. Start being.  Most  of us don’t have the role models we need. So we must become them.  We need to re-group and find our paths, and hold each other’s hands in the process.  Encourage, urge, push, and protect when need be.  More than just listen.  We need someone to talk to us and tell us WE CAN.  We can dream, we can write, we can fall in love, we can live through a broken heart and rejection letter and all the crud life brings because in the wave of mud is just one place of crystal clear, and that’s all we need.

There are no right answers, only a wonderful adventure. Womanhood is not a destination, but a process. Enjoy the journey. Dive in, swim, splash, splutter from time to time, and let go and float on top staring up at the billowy clouds.  It is exhilarating.

Let it happen, as we become the women we want to be. Emerging… Ever changing…. And so, so beautiful, as the heart of every women can be.

~

rose hip

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playing with a love poem

because I have spent so many years

in praise of the broken heart

 

and why would I  not when that’s what I had

 

now that I can have

or cannot separate

a life that more than parallels my own

 

rather wraps around and breaks borders

in waves of twisting over lapping lines

like arms and legs entwined in bed

 

until one day we become no more

than rotting bodies in straight lines

side by side in the ground

 

This is not what I was looking for

I said sort of but no one listened only laughed

as I fell not head over heals

 

but solidly planted

and now some days it seems so simple

too simple, him, our conversations, being loved

 

the assumption that he’ll be there

that I can wake early in the morning before light

and ask him and know he would never say no

 

some things maybe I miss

pain and insecurities and blinding desires

and wondering if he’s The One

 

there are days I want to be without him

as if I’d be better on my own

think of the things I could do if I didn’t have to

 

care worry encourage push and pick up the pieces

love?

instead could take care of only me

if only I remember how

 

and maybe I don’t want to anymore

then I think how lost I would be

how incomplete I would find myself

 

if you take away half my air

and just as much of my foundation

would I still remember how to breathe?

 

~

 

crows in snow

 

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