… with wild flowers and tame horses.

Two months into it here, this is what my garden looks like:

It’s alive. That’s about it.

But then again… two months into California, this was what my garden looked like:

It wasn’t much alive at all.

After a few years there, however, this is what it looked like:

The moral of the story: Don’t give up. Keep on keeping on. Try, even when others think you’re a little nuts. Because maybe you are. And maybe you have to be if you’re gonna be the one to see what’s not there, and then have the commitment, discipline and determination to bring a dream to life.

A couple of stories I want to share with you today about wild flowers and tame horses.

In starting to learn the wildflowers that bloom on our new land, I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with many of my favorites like monkshood, yarrow and gentians.

After watching a rare sighting of high country bee relish nectar in what I otherwise would have thought was something to avoid, I even have new found appreciation and maybe even love for the once dreaded  meadow thistle.

There’s one I’m still working on figuring out who it is, what it’s about, what lessons it has to share (besides the mystery and patience required in researching ).  Could be osha, porter’s lovage. Could be poison hemlock. Could be something else. Latest I heard from the best expert I know was: “I wouldn’t eat it if I were you.”  Don’t worry. I won’t.

And then of course there remains my obsession with wild grasses of which there seem to be a dozen varieties or more flourishing together in harmony on this rugged land.

One of my favorite plants both for medicinal and culinary uses is urtica dioica or stinging nettles. She’s in my daily tea year round, and in springtime, she’s the shining star of soups; a cleansing, healing, nourishing tradition. Since we’ve been here, I’ve been looking for her.  Just couldn’t imagine life without her. Figured she might not be present because of the altitude yet there are unexpected surprises, good and bad, that pop up on this land possibly due to invasive range cattle and negligent range fencing. I never once stumbled upon her in the two decades I wildharvested up river, which is just a little lower in elevation and not too far away.

Still I scoured along the road as Bob would  drive along slightly lower grounds, sticking my head out the truck window, sometimes saying  “stop!” then jumping out only to be disappointed as I find some other unwanted weed.

The other day, in a small patch of disturbed dirt between my so-called garden (the tomatoes and greens I grow for mice and squirrels), and our little camper, I was squatted down beside a low growing plant I’d noticed starting there. It was getting ready to flower and I thought I’d pull it out before such a weed spread. (I’m always aware of invasive species, trying to improve the pasture and land).

So I reached out and grabbed, full force fist, pulled and uprooted.

Now, I’m not one of those who can harvest nettles unscathed. And this time, as I grabbed with full fist, was no different.

Ouch.

I’ve never been so pleased to be in pain.

It was my beloved nettles. Careful what you ask for? Or at least… pay attention.

Needless to say, I replanted her right away, with soft soil, a splash of water, and a grateful blessing.

How could I have been so wrong? Well, in my defense, here she grows as a ground cover not much more than a few inches tall. Cultivated in my garden in California, she grows well over my head. As I rode across the west, we met regularly in the woods and along the trail, often in the wild places of Idaho, where, growing to heart or eye level, she blessed me with well needed nourishing greens as I carefully picked a few of her leaves and added them to my soup at night.

I’ll take making mistakes to learn something as pleasing as this.

The other plant I wanted to tell you about today is elephant heads, or pedicularis groenlandica.

It’s easy to see how I could be so enamored by such a flower, yes? But it’s not just because of her cuteness. It’s because of this story.

The second year I worked for Bob outfitting along the upper Rio Grande, we were guiding  a several day trip, leading guests and full packs across a marshy meadow just below treeline in the high country. Suddenly Bob dropped both reigns and lead to his pack string and gracefully jumped off his horse in one swift and smooth motion (as back then, only Bob could do), bent over, picked one flower, then approached me on my horse who  like me was wondering what he might be up to.

“Shhhhh…” Bob whispered as he handed me the flower. “It’s a nursery. Baby elephants are sleeping,” he said as I look in amazement at something I’d never seen before.

See why I wanted to marry this guy?

Though if I’m not mistaken, just a couple days before when we were getting ready to head off on this trip and I was bucked off my horse, landing a little battered and bruised on my back, and he didn’t even help me up or wipe the blood, I was saying something very, very different.

Don’t worry. Twenty something years later, though I can honestly tell you there’s been many more of both kinds of stories than I care to recount, I have never once wished he wasn’t mine.

Finally a few thoughts to share with you on joy, just because, and maybe to think about as you enjoy your weekend, wherever you are, whatever you are doing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about joy. The puppy has been my guru on that one. He’s joyous. Just plain joyous. Life is full of joy for him, and honestly, it’s contagious.

Bayjura is back, and the horses are settling in together, with each other, with us, living side by side, horse and human, in our daily rhythms and rituals and adjustments, like managing the shocks of the morning moose (which has become so regular even the horses are reacting less).

I was expecting more joy from Crow bringing Bayjura home from breeding. It was a mild homecoming, mellow, gradual, almost standoffish or so it appeared to me. It’s as if he noticed something different, and she’s been different, and joy has been more of an “oh, okay, that’s fine” feeling of acceptance rather than the big exciting dramatic display I was expecting.

And maybe that’s okay.

Remember how joy came easily as children, when we’d find joy in the simplest things and in natural states of wonder.

But then we “grew up” and joy became more complicated. Complex, convoluted, tangled in a web of expectations, demands, criticisms and judgments.

I want joy to be abundant again, found in all the simple wonders, all around, every day. It’s all there, just waiting for us to slow down long enough to see, hear and feel that which is already there, just waiting for us to find it.

Look around.

And listen.

There’s joy. Right there, where it’s been all along.

Maybe it’s quiet. Subtle. Even a little shy about it. But check it out. It’s there.

Joy. Just waiting for you to notice.

Until next time,

With love, always love,

And a little joy,

Gin

~