My personal stuff pile, including my new day pack, bought to replace the ratty, thirty-year old canvas one I’ve had since my climbing days….
A tidy pile of outdoor clothing takes up the end of my bed; a pile of camping gear is mounded of the floor next to the bed. There’s a pile of books and writing gear in my office. I’m getting ready to hit the road–and then the river.
Tomorrow I’ll drive to Vernal, six and a half hours away in the northeastern corner of Utah, where I’ll join a Colorado Art Ranch “floatposium”–a float trip with workshops and talks along the way. I’m the resident writer, leading workshops as we go, and reading selections from great writing about the place and its stories.
Friday morning, we’ll put in at Gates of Lodore just downstream of Browns Park. We’ll take out Monday afternoon at Split Mountain, having followed the Green right through the heart of Dinosaur National Monument. (Click on “View park map” in the lefthand column to see the terrain. Click here for some impressive photos of the canyons we’ll float through.)
We’ll spend four days bouncing through rapids and idling in smooth water beneath towering sandstone walls, listening to the voice of the river as it changes from crashing to murmuring and to the sweet descending trills of canyon wrens, camping on river-beaches, smelling the metallic tang of the water and the pungent fragrance of sagebrush, and watching the stars blaze in the blackest of night skies.
The anthology What Wildness is This, from Story Circle Network and University of Texas Press
If it all sounds idyllic, it can be. But as I wrote in “Riding the River Home,” an essay in the anthology What Wildness is This,
I am no river girl. Whitewater terrifies me. Drowning is the worst death I can imagine.
Still, I rode the river then, and I’ll ride it again on this trip. I won’t be the one excited and cheering when the river’s voice changes from a murmur to a hissing rumble and the steady thump! thump! of the boatman’s oars turns to splashing and hollering, but I’ll be okay. What I learned on that river trip still holds true:
As we rode the river into the quiet of the canyons, as I told story after story about that slickrock landscape, I remembered what it is to be at home in a place, to belong in a way that touches your very cells. The river’s lessons were written in the dazzle of stars overhead, the hiss of water, the warmth of silky black schist, the trilling of canyon wrens, the curving shapes of redrock canyon walls, and the metallic taste of my unceasing dread. They reminded me of the connection between place and the human heart, of the necessity of belonging to the whole landscape, to the parts we love and the parts we fear. They reminded me that home is not an abstract concept, but a real and often problematic place. I’ll never be a river girl, and I no longer mind. … In a very real sense, I rode the river home.
The other reason this won’t necessarily be an idyllic trip for me is that my dear friend Carol Valera Jacobson, writer, bookstore owner, teacher, gardener, passionate liver of life, drowned in Triplet Falls in Lodore Canyon on the Green three summers ago. We’ll be camping by Triplet one night. Carol’s husband, Craig mayor Terry Carwile, will be with us.
It seems as if my lesson these days is letting go, and doing so with grace. I’m working on it.
****
How could you not fall for a face like that?
My other lesson is being flexible, and adapting to change. One of the changes in my life after Richard, on this new and unlooked-for path as Woman Alone involves another male. This one is four-footed though.
I’ve applied to adopt a rescued Great Dane. The one I’m considering is 5 years old, and a blue-eyed Merle Mantle (blue merle with white feet, a white nose, and a white chest) He’s got some medical issues, but he sounds like a real gentleman and a sweetheart. I don’t know yet if I can afford his care, or if he’s the dog for me. But I’m keeping my mind open.
Why would I want to add 135 pounds of dog to my life? That’s for another post. I’ll be offline until next week, once I return from the river….
What a face! What’s not to Love?
He’s a cutie, all right. I just hope I can afford him, what with the special food and meds he needs to stay healthy. I’m going to see if I can visit him on my way to Alaska–depending on where his foster-family lives in Colo, and then I’ll know.
Susan, you never cease to amaze and I mean that in a very positive and good way. You are teaching so many of us that to live with grace, to meet our challenges with courage, is the only peaceful and dignified way to live life. Your river trip will be remarkable in many ways. I remember reading the story of Carol’s tragic accident. Three years – how quickly time passes us by. Adopting a 5 year old Great Dane is taking a grand leap of faith. I will be anxiously awaiting news of this possible adoption. He is a handsome fellow and in need of a loving and caring forever home. I wish you both the best.
Hugs, Lindy
Lindy, You are a dear! I am honored that you find learnings in my experience, and honored to have your support and love. I think this trip will be healing on various levels. As for the adoption, I won’t know if I can swing it until I find out how much his special food and his meds cost, and meet him in person. I hope to do that later this month, and if all goes well, I’ll bring him him win August, when I’m home for almost two months. Hugs back!
Susan, dear friend, what a huge heart you have. And now a Great Dane! Well, if you decide to do it, he will be a lucky dog. Having met you through your river-writing (in WHAT WILDNESS), I’ll look forward to reading about this trip!
Susan, I hope for a trip with no unintended swimming on any level, but we know how easily life upends our intentions…. I am so grateful for WHAT WILDNESS for bringing us together. That book is such a profoundly beautiful project. I know it was a huge amount of work, and I honor you for envisioning it and taking it on. As for the Great Dane, I’ve missed our beloved Isis for all the five years since she died. When I told Richard a day or so before he died that I was intending to adopt a Great Dane–I even showed him photos of a few I was looking at on the rescue site–I got a hand-squeeze and a tiny thumbs-up, so I’m taking that as my blessing.
Sweet Susan, How I wish I were one of your participants. This is truly a mystical, magical world you will dwell in. Having done the trip, I know the grip in one’s bowels as the sound of the rapids appears. Some 15 years ago I saw a river otter early one morning above camp. The ranger explained they had introduced a few, but thought none had survived. Keep your eyes peeled. May all go well for you and your group. I see you with this lovely Great Dane. Surely if he is meant to be yours, the means to care for him will follow. I think The Lesson has always been about accepting change. It just takes each of us our own time to recognize that life is change. Much love,
Bobbe, We all dwell in a mystical, magical world. It’s a matter of opening ourselves to the possibilities and letting them in. Which I think is part of the lesson of accepting not just change, but that we are not in charge. The letting go is what allows us to participate in the grace at the heart of life, and be inspired and nourished by this numinous planet and all the lives that make it a magical place. I’ll look for your river otter!
I truly love the idea of floating on the river. Enjoy your time Susan. May it be healing, creative, and exciting. A bit of ‘living on the edge’ is what I often refer to on such an adventure. Challenge is living life to the fullest. A dog in your future also sounds wonderful. Good luck with everything! Embrace each moment…
Robin, I’m back and the float was all of those. I believe in living on the edge–but I will say that I’ve been doing that for several years now, through my mom’s decline and death, and during some of the same time, Richard’s brain cancer and death. At some point the edge simply becomes numbing, not opening and expanding. I am looking forward to quieter living before I simply fall off the edge with exhaustion…. I am working at building quiet time into each day, starting now. Which is why I am taking my time answering emails and blog comments, and haven’t pushed myself to write another blog post even though I’ve been home all of four hours now.
My promise to myself on the river was to trust, and that includes trusting that quiet time is what I need right now.
i remember first reading of this wonderful “floatposium” and quickly pulling up my calender checking financial projections and wondering can i make it work? …. sadly for me the answer was not this time grasshopper ;> but oh so thrilled for the lucky ones whose time is now….this will be another journey in many ways in your healing and grief work. I am so honored to follow these journeys with you through your writings. You are the consummate teacher dear Susan.
Now as for the four legged gentleman friend…if it is meant to be it will indeed be. lord knows there is never a paucity of four legged ones to be rescued. whoever is lucky enough to share your life will be in deed lucky- i suspect their is a special old soul waiting to meet up with you…that will be another heart- string dog for you. Blessings and safe trip and peace as you remember Carol- it is so hard sometimes to revisit the places where we tragically lost a special life- blessings to dear Terry too.
hugs from our heart to yours dear friend
Doc Chery, You would have loved this float, and would have come away just as wide-eyed with wonder and giddy with delight as the rest of us did. We left the busy world behind and floated our way to remembering what it is we love about this extraordinary world, and our lives in it. And we did a beautiful ceremony for Carol at Triplett Falls, which we ran the next day without a hitch–okay, there was the few minutes the baggage raft got hung up on a big rock, but all ended well. And on our last day, Terry rowed that same baggage raft with a huge smile on his face–his first time back on the river since Carol drowned. Miracles abound.
I’m waiting to hear if I can go visit the Dane I’m interested in next week. Fingers crossed! Much love, S
May this rivertime be restorative and rewarding. May it be another, “return home,” to aspects of your writing and your sharing/teaching of it. May its eventfulness be onshore, except for the views and sightings.
See you shortly after you return in time for petanque.
Eduardo, Thank you for that lovely benediction. It was mostly restorative, and very rewarding, also somewhat harrowing in spots. But overall, a lovely return home in many ways. I’m not even thinking of petanque yet–I’ve got the TEDx talk to finish, and a Citizen’s Task Force meeting for Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area on Thursday. Yikes!
Susan, I’m glad the Floatposium is happening, and I hope you get only as wet as you want to! That pup looks very appealing. There’s no telling what medical needs the critters we adopt will have: our Ceilidh already has an array of pills for things that weren’t apparent when we took her on. The big question is whether this is the right dog for you. She’s the right dog for us.
Dunno if you’ve noticed but we’ve had a couple of extra 100+-pound dogs at our place recently, because of the High Park Fire. In this case, we are so glad to have them with us, we are enjoying them thoroughly, and it’s okay that they are just visiting!
Deb, Thanks for that lovely wish! It was a good trip, not without some pretty harrowing moments, but good all the same. More tomorrow when I have some time to decompress and can write a blog post in between getting the presentation for my TEDx talk off to the organizers in Alaska…. I’ve been home a whole four hours now and I’m working at not stressing out about what’s ahead this week.
I did notice on your blog that you had a couple of giant white Akbash? staying with you as High Park Fire refugees. They look like beauties, but all I could think was all that dog hair! Enjoy them while they visit–I bet Ceilidh will miss them (sort of) when they’re gone.
You are a very brave lady. I have so much respect for you. I am in awe of all you do. You are indeed an inspiration!
My daughter has 2 Great Danes – Maya who is 8 and Ellie who is not quite 1 yet. I have yet to meet Ellie, but Maya is a gem. Every Great Dane I have ever met has been someone I would share my life with. The biggest problem as I see it is they think they’re lap dogs! This dog would be lucky to have you for a companion.
I’ll be anxious to read about your trip. Thanks for all you share.
Kay, I don’t know that I am brave–at least it doesn’t seem that way to me. I’m just determined. And when I say I’ll do something, I do (unless I decide it will hurt me, and usually I figure that out before it does, but not always).
How cool that your daughter has two Danes! I’ve never had more than one at a time, and I don’t think I’m going to change that. But you do get pretty addicted to them. They’re such sweethearts, and such goofballs. I don’t let mine be lap dogs–I don’t do dogs on furniture at all. But I’m happy to get down on the floor and snuggle with them, and our Isis loved that.
I’m back and will write about my trip tomorrow. I learned some important things about myself, and my life. Wilderness does that if you’ll open yourself to it.
Susan, It sounds like a great trip for you. I remember a day-trip float on the Green River near Vernal, UT from about 1973 with my mom and dad and brothers. I still have some pictures of that day that I took with my first camera – a Kodak instamatic. They were terrible. I’m sure you will take some great pictures. Take care and watch out for those rapids!
Peace and Love always!
Emily
Emily, You probably did Island Park to Split Mountain, the last day of our trip, and a lovely float with just enough “bounce” to make it fun for kids. Plus some fairly magnificent canyon walls, especially in that final curve around the anticline that creates Split Mountain. What a landscape! My first camera was a Brownie Box camera, and the photos from it probably make the ones you shot with your Instamatic look great.
Glad you made it home OK, Susan. I’ve been keeping you in my thoughts. One of my fears is rushing water, since I never learned to swim. I love watching it from a distance, and in general am a true Pisces. But I don’t want to be on it in a fast-moving vehicle.
Looking forward to your blog report! Happy trails from rainy Texas! bobbi c.
Home is the best place to be, and we had a crashing, booming, pouring t-shower tonight. Yay! As for water, I can swim, but I watched a grade-school playmate disappear under the waves when I was a child and never reappear, and I never got over the fear of simply not surfacing. But I do love rivers and love riding them, so it’s time to let that into my life again. And anyway, rafts are not fast-moving vehicles–they’re the slow way to run a river. I don’t do boats and engines and all that noise.
The blog post is up complete with a gallery of photos….