Crestone redux: Lessons learned

A couple of weeks ago when I started the Crestone blogs, I wondered what I would learn during my two-week quiet stay at Nada in the San Luis Valley.

One thing is that I need to exercise more. I’ve always liked walking the neighborhood, but over the last year or so it has seemed more like a ‘should’ and as a result, I haven’t. The consequence for that lack of exercise, I think, is my aborted attempt to reach South Crestone Lake. Given, the hike was a steep one and my legs did damned well for three hours. Still, I know if I train a bit, I’ll make it next time. Trust me. I’m looking forward to it, in fact. So #1: I learned I need to exercise more.

Second, I learned that I really like being in the quiet. We played a little music and talked a bit, but other than that, our hermitage was really quiet. Cindy read, sewed, and knitted. I read and wrote a bit, walked the neighborhood some, and found myself reclined on a bench by the fireplace pretty often just listening to the quiet and checking out the knotty pine pattern of the ceiling. One afternoon while doing so, I also wrote a half dozen poems when ideas jumped out of my brain. #2: I rather like being a quiet introvert.

Which brings me to another personal realization determined some years ago at the Grand Canyon. It was June 1987, one year after my first visit to the South Rim. I was impressed on the first visit, but not overly so. I mean, the Grand Canyon is one big hole in the ground, no doubt. But the air quality that early summer was poor: the North Rim shrouded in a haze and the colors of the side canyons muted. The rim sunset we watched was cool, but overall, I could boil down my Canyon experience to my being thankful for having survived the hike down to Phantom Ranch and back up Bright Angel.

But then 1987. The second coming. I stood there with a new batch of kids, including my own daughter, peering into the abyss, while my eyes filled up with tears. Just like they are doing now, remembering. I realized then, as I do now, that the Canyon gets into you and doesn’t let you go. I believe it’s the reason cranky old Ed Abbey wanted his cremated ashes tossed in the Canyon. For all eternity.

Since then I’ve been able to return to the Canyon once by myself and once with my buddy, Will. On both occasions I was able to find a spot and sit, listening to wind whistling through my ears and the pine needles, being present with both the greatness of that place and this amazing planet.

So it could be that I’m a year away from knowing more about what I learned at the Sangre de Cristos. Or maybe I’m one trip removed from feeling the special stuff.

I do know this, too: the Earth is a special place. It is good to be quiet with it. It has a lot to say and much to share. I’ve learned something about that at the Grand Canyon, in the Sangres, and on my back porch. In fact, it’s interesting what you can learn just tying up the tomatoes plants.

Today’s elder idea:

Take as much as you think you ought to

Give just as much as you can

Don’t forget what your failures have taught you

Or else you’ll have to learn them all over again.

Dan Fogelberg

from ‘Lessons Learned’

Nether Lands 1977