Sorry for the radio silence. We've had an influx of visiting family–Molly and a bunch of Tweits. So the last few days have been taken up with family business (a three-hour stint with a lawyer updating my dad's affairs), plus cooking and eating, taking walks, birdwatching, seeing art, playing cards and laughing…

Theclan

(That's the clan on our front porch. Left to right: Richard; Molly; our niece Alice; her mom, my sister-in-law Lucy kneeling; her dad, my brother Bill; and my dad, Bob)

Saturday morning after a scrumptious breakfast of my breakfast-in-a-muffin muffins (recipe below) and Richard's elegantly flipped-in-the-pan scrambled eggs, we headed downriver to Badger Creek, just west of the tiny town of Howard, for a ramble. (Richard stayed home for a nap, after performing flawlessly on the difficult brain-task of remembering the sequencing of making his eggs and then correctly flipping each pan-ful, three in all. Alice had More Important Things to Do: play with my new iPad.)

Badgercreek

Badger Creek is the only perennial stream running into the Arkansas River from the northeast, the high-desert side of the valley. It cuts a long, nearly straight canyon draining the southern edge of South Park from about 9,500 feet elevation into the Arkansas River far below. It's a corridor for wildlife, connecting high country to the plains-bound river, and also a great hiking route. In spring, it's usually lousy with wildflowers and migrating birds.

Claretcup

Saturday morning it wasn't lousy with wildflowers (it's been a pore-puckeringly dry year), but we found the early claret cup cactus blossom above and one diminuitive ant money lupine, a tiny and gorgeously ultramarine blue annual wildflower (those flowers in the photo below are about the size of my little fingernail). The birding was great though, and that's what led me to the day's epiphany.

Antmoneylupine

I stood in the warm sunshine, inhaling the faint resiny scent of piñon pine and juniper needles, listening idly to bursts of birdsong that my birdwatching brother identified as a plumbeous vireo (a songbird bigger than a warbler and camoflaged in a dull gray color). Bill wanted the vireo to come close enough that my legally-blind dad could see it, so he pulled up Sibley's Guide to North American Birds on his smartphone. Pretty soon the real vireo flew into the tree next to us to out-sing the digital version…

Birders

While I watched the birders in my family get a thorough look and then turn their attention to another bird, the phrase "bird by bird" popped into my mind, from Annie Lamott's terrific book about writing and creativity.

That phrase describes not only how we were seeing Badger Creek (rambling from birdsong to birdsong), but also in the metaphoric sense, how Richard and I are approaching this journey with his brain cancer: Take this moment, this day, and live it as well as you can, and then go on to the next, without becoming paralyzed by worrying about the whole journey. Bird by bird, day by day.

And on that note, here's today's good news. Richard spent the better part of an hour in his studio this afternoon, explaining to a friend how to cut and polish a chunk of petrified tree trunk. It's the first time he's been in his studio in… months, I think. He's exhausted now, but still. Whatever tomorrow brings–and some days are just freaking grueling–we'll always have today's quiet joy at his time in the studio, plus Saturday's plumbeous vireo and the gift of the family visit. (But not Casablanca, because we've never been there… Sorry. Sick sense of humor.)

Tomorrow afternoon we head over the mountains to Denver, which will be easier since Molly will be along to help. We'll sort out some computer issues for my Dad on Wednesday; Thursday is Richard's next Avastin infusion. Fingers crossed. I'll report in after we get home Thursday night.

In the meantime, here's the recipe for those yummy and good-for-you muffins (I use organic ingredients.):

"Breakfast in a Muffin"
1 cup dried blueberries
2 cups chopped apple
½ cup maple syrup
1 cup plain yogurt
¼ cup melted butter
2 eggs
¾ cup water
½ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ginger
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup oat bran
½ cup flax meal
½ cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter the muffin tins. Chop the apples. Combine dry ingredients (plus walnuts) in a large bowl, stir in apples and blueberries. Whisk melted butter, maple syrup, yogurt, egg, and water in a medium bowl. Pour liquid into dry ingredients and fold in carefully until just mixed. Spoon muffin batter into tins, filling each to the rim. Bake 20 minutes, or until surface springs back with a touch. Makes 16 muffins. Enjoy!

"I can't imagine making that drive over the mountains twice in just a few days," a friend commented today. "No wonder you're exhausted." 

"That drive" is the 135-mile commute between our small town in the mountains and the VA Hospital where Richard is treated in Denver. It's three hours in good weather, and because much of the drive is at high elevations–really high elevations, as in over 9,000 feet above sea level–you can't count on the weather cooperating. 

Our house sits at  7,030 feet above sea level, and three mountain passes rise between it and the city. The first, 9,346-foot-high Trout Creek Pass, forms the divide between our valley and South Park, a wide bowl of high-elevation grasslands that tips upward toward the north. (Yes, the real  wind-whipped, lonesome landscape that inspired the hit television show…) 

Southpark
South Park is a gorgeous expanse of open country ringed by higher peaks, home to wildlife large and small including elk, pronghorn antelope, bighorn sheep, ravens, prairie dogs, and mountain bluebirds in summer and golden eagles in winter. (That's the view from Trout Creek Pass across the southern half of South Park in the photo above, a vista that never fails to take my breath away.)

Summerwildflowers
In summer, South Park is a gorgeous green expanse of native high-elevation prairie, dotted with wildflowers. (The swaths of hot pink wildflowers in the photo above bear the inglorious common name of alpine lousewort.)

IMG_5881
In winter, when the wind blows incessantly, the driving is often treacherous, with whiteouts and black ice. Even then, there's always something to see on the transect across these high mountain grasslands, whether it's the sinuous  wave-shapes of the snowdrifts, or the stark calligraphy of black raven winging across dazzling white ground.

This last trip, we hit the wild ungulate quadrifecta, spotting all four possible species of large, hoofed grazing wildlife. Our sightings began with herd of 150 or so mule deer grazing in a hayfield at the foot of Trout Creek Pass. The wind was howling across South Park, so while we spotted a coyote, lots of ravens, a ferruginous hawk, and some prairie dogs standing sentinel by their burrows, we weren't sure we'd see any other  species of large wildlife. 

Elk
Until we passed a herd of about 200 elk, mostly cows, resting in the grasslands near the tiny town of Jefferson in the north edge of South Park. And just beyond them, a handful of pronghorn antelope.  (I didn't get a shot of the latter: the pronghorn photo below is from the previous summer.)

Pronghorn
We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves for seeing the wild ungulate trifecta (three species: mule deer, elk, and pronghorn) and then after going up and over 10,000-foot-high Kenosha Pass, we spotted a small herd of bighorn sheep nibbling on new green grass right outside the "town" of Grant (a post office/general store, defunct restaurant and a towing service plus about six houses). 

Bighorns
That gave us the wild ungulate quadrifecta, a rare experience for the commute. Our delight at seeing all four species of wild grazers carried us up and down the ridges of the Front Range, past increasing numbers of houses dotting the forests, down one of the many canyons that lead out of the Rockies and onto the Plains, and across the city.

Paintbrush

This commute to the hospital is a long one, and the drive can indeed  be exhausting. But the grace notes along the way–whether elk and ravens, bighorn sheep and prairie dogs, pronghorn antelope, golden eagles, mule deer and indian paintbrush, or the sky-blue flash of a male mountain bluebird like the one perched on the speed limit sign in the photo below–never fail to remind Richard and I to slow down and appreciate the moment.

That's a welcome gift, wherever life, and the road ahead, may take us. 

Bluebird
On the brain cancer front, the steroids have reduced the swelling in Richard's right brain enough that he's practicing his juggling again. He naps a lot, but when he's up, he's clear-headed and feeling good. On we go…