Crestone #11: Solitude

When most folks think vacation, they usually visualize a Florida beach, gambling in Las Vegas, or seeing a show on Broadway. There are some of us mid-lifers who still like to camp, but most of us now seek a little more comfort when we leave home for a week or two.

Cindy and I picked solitude as a destination. How can solitude, some of you might ask, be a vacation?

Well, for us, it’s been a pretty crazy year plus. In May 2008, Cindy’s dad fell and broke his hip which took him out of assisted living and put him in a nursing home. As the primary care giver, Cindy had to make all the arrangements, plus drive to see her dad multiple times a week. My mom has been in much better shape, but there are still lots of doctor’s visits and trips to the grocery. My sister Patty takes care of most of Mom’s needs, bless her heart, but I’m called on to do some. Then there’s child care for grandkids. It’s all good, but all of this sometimes leaves us wondering where our retirement time is.

Then, of course, Cindy’s dad passed last Christmas. All of her sibs came to town and while it was good to see everybody, there was some family tension. As Cindy continues to work through her father’s final financial reckoning, she finds herself on a learning curve that would make a banker’s head swim. In other words, things have been tough.

A vacation where all of that could be left behind for two weeks was just what we both needed. Enter Nada.

The monks here at Nada live in the old Roman Catholic Carmelite tradition that dates back to the Crusades. Early Carmelites lived a simple life in the desert, practicing contemplative prayer with special devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The small community here at Nada -- three lay women and one priest -- still do. In addition, of course, they offer desert hermitages to retreatants to come and have their own solitary experiences. There is usually only one community meal a week, after mass on Sunday. There is morning and evening prayer most days, but all of that is optional for us. Retreatants are free to come and go as we please, taking hikes, driving into Crestone or Alamosa, or taking side trips to wherever.

Cindy and I have pretty much kept to ourselves, hanging out in the remote Juliana hermitage, one of only two set up for a couple. There has been much sleeping, lots of reading, some writing, and much quiet time as we both try to give each other the space we need. Meals have been simple but good, largely put together with canned food provided in the cupboad by the Nadans. We also brought along some cookies, juice, a little soda, some frozen ground turkey, and a few bottles of wine. We played John Denver on my iPod desktop system a few afternoons, but other than that, it has been pretty quiet inside our personal hermitage.

Two days into our stay, Cindy stood at our picture windows looking out at the desert foothills of the Sangres and said, ‘This is just what I need.’ Most times I know where I can find her: sleeping in her single bed or perched in the window seat, either knitting or reading a book.

We’ve had a fan on most of the week, and we can hear the little refrigerator hum. But other than that, all we can hear are the pinyon jays and the wind in the stove pipe now and then. It is so quiet that when the wind blows just right, we can hear Willow Creek, a rushing alpine stream about a mile away. There are times I’ve actually heard jets at cruising altitude, which is miles up. All I can see are tiny spots with vapor trails.

We like Broadway shows and camping with the kids. But getting away from our busy lives to exist in the quiet that only a mother like nature can provide has been a real blessing. You don’t have to be Catholic to enjoy Nada, either. They welcome all traditions. Solitude has provided us a recharge that we both have been hungry for. We recommend it.

Today’s elder idea: We aspire to create a vital environment characterized by solitude, simplicity, and beauty, where community thrives, love is nurtured, prayer flourishes, and the whole person can be transformed.

excerpt from The Spiritual Life Institute mission

Nada Hermitage, Crestone CO

PS: If you haven’t looked yet, check out the Nada website. Staying here is very affordable. Two weeks for a couple costs less than $800, food included. And they have a place in Skreen, County Sligo, Ireland at similar rates. Beat that.

www.spirituallifeinstitute.org

Crestone #10: My iron skillet

As we gathered our gear to head west, I cleared an old plastic storage box to serve as our portable library. I brought along some Emily Dickinson; Billy Collins; the brand new Mary Oliver; this year’s Pulitzer for fiction, Olive Kitteridge; the jewel box insert for Paul Winter’s Consort’s Crestone; and my zen favorite, Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Wherever You Go, There You Are; among a few odds and ends. Cindy contributed some fiction: Charles Frazier’s Thirteen Moons, Jody Piccoult’s The Pact, and Kate Jacobs’s The Friday Night Knitting Club. Cindy has done a number on her collection, while I’ve had a pretty good time with mine, too.

Along with the library, a case of bottled water, and other stuff in the trunk, I stowed one other important thing very carefully: my iron skillet.

As it’s turned out, since my retirement, and probably for some time before that, I’ve taken on the responsibility of grocery shopping and meal planning at our house. I suppose I like to cook because my dad was such a role model. When I was a kid, he reprised his kitchen skills learned with the Army Air Corps during the war by fixing huge spaghetti dinners for the men’s group at church. After he retired he even took on some catering gigs. And, of course, there was his famous Christmas morning breakfast at the family homestead that he cooked every year until he couldn’t any more.

In any case, I like to cook. And I especially like to cook for Cindy. We say to each other now and then that if one or the other isn’t home, it’s a frozen something in the microwave. But when we’re both home, it’s a bona fide meal either off the stove or off the grill, usually fixed by me. I look at it as a real way to nourish my family and our love.

So when gear was stowed for our two week adventure in solitude, I had to bring my iron skillet. At home I use it for almost everything, from making Noah’s pancakes to grilled cheese sandwiches to my own version of spaghetti sauce. I have used non-stick fry pans in the past, but no more. There’s something about cooking on some version of Teflon that doesn’t feel healthy, especially since so many old pans have flaked off their coatings. Cindy’s favorite skillet is a lovely heavy duty stainless steel number. But for me, it’s the old iron skillet.

I’ve had this skillet through two marriages, and I suppose I’ve handled it better than some relationship issues. I oil it carefully after every use, disdaining soap unless it really is a mess. It always comes back beautiful, and frankly, with all the oilings, has become pretty non-stick all by itself.

We didn’t know exactly what to expect here at Nada. We knew we would have lots of quiet time here in our hermitage, and that we have. The books, journals, and blogs have been entertaining and enriching. And so has the cooking. Not that every meal has come out of my iron skillet, but the onions, ground turkey, and rice dish the other night was pretty fine. Something there is about sauteing onions and garlic in an iron skillet that sets the mood for any evening meal.

Taking care of ourselves, mind and body, was important during our quiet time at the mountains. My iron skillet was another anchor brought from home that has made our time together here more meaningful. Oh. And I baked cookies, too, in the toaster oven. For a pot luck.

Today’s elder idea: The habit of ignoring our present moments in favor of others yet to come leads directly to a pervasive lack of awareness of the web of life in which we are embedded.

Jon Kabat-Zinn

Crestone #9: Summer storm

Ask anybody from around these parts and she or he will tell you it’s been a wet spring and summer. That is why, you will be told, there are still so damned many mosquitoes around. By early July the San Luis Valley is usually a much dryer place.

During our stay here at Nada, though, rain has been an almost daily occurrence in the valley. Not that it rained here every day, mind you, but from our vantage point in the sandy foothills just slightly up from the valley floor, you can see rain showers from miles away. Last night around dusk, though, was the masterpiece.

Built with solar heating in mind, all of the Nada hermitages have large glass southern exposures. Thus, we have two large windows in the living area looking south. Just as the sun was making its daily spectacular exit over the San Juan range on the other side of the San Luis, a large system of dark cumulus moved slowly toward us from the southwest, dropping rain as it came. At the same time, looking due south, we saw another system dumping sheets of rain on what we assumed was Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve, less than 20 miles away as the raven flies. Folks down there in the campground were getting mighty wet.

The system moving toward us from the southwest kept coming and growing, beginning to give us a spectacular, unobscured lightning show. First Cindy wondered if she saw lightning at all, seeing both it and a reflection in the glass next to her window seat where she was reading. Before too long, though, the book was set down and plans for a simple dinner were put on hold while we both sat facing south as the sky and the day darkened.

First one, then another, then another complete branching of lightning was seen, sky to valley. The ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ you could hear from us were as good as any uttered at any Fourth of July fireworks display. To say it was spectacular doesn’t do the lightning justice. We sat in awe as the natural pyrotechnics lit up the ever darkening sky. When the rain finally got to us, it wasn’t really much. But the lightening continued overhead as the storm moved ever closer to the mountains.

We finally had a couple of flashes overhead, then all was over. I told Cindy the lightning show was the best movie I had seen yet this summer. And when I stood outside for a little while during the approach, I said it was even better than anything IMAX could film. Wow.

We came to be with summer mountains and have to admit the mosquitoes have made it very difficult to do much outside. As our stay in the Juliana hermitage comes to an end next week, we will take not only lessons of the quiet back east with us, but vivid mental images of a nighttime thunderstorm that Nikon could not record. It will be a story we will only be able to tell about.

Today’s elder idea: The only paradise I know is the one lit by our everyday sun, this land of difficult love, shot through with shadow. The place where we learn this love, if we learn it at all, shimmers behind every new place we inhabit.

Scott Russell Sanders

from “Buckeye”

Writing from the Center

Crestone #8 South Crestone Lake hike

When the South Crestone Lake hike washed out on Monday -- and after I talked to you about it here -- I reset my sights on Friday. Cindy & I wanted to go back into Alamosa for lunch on Tuesday and then visit Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, just down the road, on the way back to Nada. That would give me Wednesday and Thursday to get my head together, read and write a little more, and re-gather my gear to head up the trail. Then on Wednesday afternoon, both of us concluded that Thursday would be the day. “Just do it,” Cindy said. I agreed.

When I woke up at 5:30 this morning with light on the sage and grasses outside our hermitage just starting to brighten, I got up, stuck my head out the door to check the temperature, and saw it would be a clear morning. I made my peanut butter sandwich quietly, but Cindy was awake anyway. I gathered some trail mix, an apple, a couple bottles of water, and the water filter. Along with the binocs, Sibley’s western bird book, my camera, bug juice, and the only neoprene knee sleeve I had, I was out the door by 6:15.

My goal today was, of course, to reach an alpine lake. South Crestone was it. By the time I got on the trail, dawn was brightening, but I was at least 30 minutes away from the sun making it over the mountains. The air was cool and the mosquitoes seemed pretty light. I set out.

The trail turned from sandy to rocky by the time I passed the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness sign. I was not aware that I was heading into official wilderness. I was pleased. The trail kept rising, and soon I found myself in an stand of aspen with the sun just peaking over the range.

The trail kept rising as I encountered a few stream crossings and lots of rocks on the trail. I stopped now and then for a handful of trail mix and a sip of water. It was good to be on the mountain on my very first solo hike into wilderness. I felt good.

The trail notes I read said to give myself three hours to reach the lake. At two and one half hours, I thought I should be getting close. I had kept up a good pace, though slow. My breathing felt good and my body was behaving nicely.

That’s when I began to feel the tightness in my right ‘bicycle muscle,’ as I call it. It had been working hard in tandem lifting my body and pack up the trail. Now it was starting to tell me it had limitations. I massaged it some, but was concerned that it would cramp up even more.

As I climbed the steep trail still more, I recognized an opening coming up ahead. I hoped it was the lake. Alas, it was a lovely wet meadow. But no lake. Again, I was concerned. I was feeling tightness start in my left thigh muscle, too.

Looking ahead and up, I concluded that South Crestone Lake had to be, at least, one more long, hard pitch up the trail. I looked at the steepness of the trail, feeling tightness in both thighs -- and knew I had been beaten. It wasn’t going to happen. South Crestone Lake would not be known today. My legs could not get me there.

After uttering a few expletives, I settled down on a sunlit rock and assessed where I was. I had a great morning on the mountain below Challenger Peak. I had lots of pictures on my camera. Other than my legs, I felt good. And I was sitting on the mountain. I had done what I could do. I ate my lunch.

The trail back saw the pain shift from my thighs to my knees. The neoprene sleeve helped the one, but the other now was barking pretty loudly. I kept up a steady, slow pace -- not able to stop for long because of the clouds of mosquitoes now active -- and three hours later was glad to see the car at the trailhead.

The mountain beat me, like I had feared. Still, I had many mindful moments this morning, watching the sun rise through aspens and hearing the laughter of mountain streams. All in all, I had gotten what I had come for.

I refer to Mr. Denver for today’s elder idea.

Today’s elder idea: Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and streams seeking grace in every step he takes.

John Denver

‘Rocky Mountain High’

PS: Cindy wanted you to know that she is glad I’m home. Safe.

Crestone #7: GFS/AmW

The last time I spent much time in Colorado was in 1990, on the last Geology Field Study/American West field trip organized by my friend and colleague Mark Maley. It was the final trip in the summer series, beginning in 1986 when we both taught at Wayne High School in Huber Heights, Ohio.

Over five years and four field trips, about 50 kids took part in the summer extravaganza that had us all sleeping in tents, riding for hours in a stuffed van pulling a trailer, packing lunches, and partaking of student-prepared evening meals served at picnic tables across the American southwest. We hiked down the Grand Canyon and visited alpine lakes in the Rockies. Mark was famous for holding class at 9:00 at night, student notebooks and reports lit by a Coleman lantern. While Mark did the geology and fretted over reservations for months, I planned the menu and offered the kids some humanities, including two trips to Window Rock AZ to visit with Navajo folk. Oh, what a time it was.

We still hear from some of those kids. In fact, the Saturday before Cindy and I set out on this retreat, we hosted a little get-together at our home for one of the very first GFS kids who currently is working in Germany teaching dependents of American airmen and -women. Laurie Scott Mattern did, in fact, go on the first two GFS/AmW trips, filling in a much needed space that second time that helped balance trip expenses.

Which is part of the reason I celebrate GFS/AmW today: While Mark and I don’t know about all the kids who went with us, we do still hear from some. The 1990 crew, in fact -- 19 years later -- now exchange email as a group, mostly laughing about something from that summer or updating everybody on a new trip out west they have taken or are planning with their families.

What I want to say is this: our being in the West made a difference in our lives. The community experience has changed us. Mark and I are now brothers. The kids still laugh about their antics, but underneath it all is a deep appreciation for mountains, the desert, hoo-doos, volcanic cinders, the ancient people who made this amazing region their home, and each other.

The American West is a powerful place. Most of the kids knew. And now, on this quiet retreat in the morning shadow of the Sangre de Cristos overlooking the hard working and beautiful San Luis valley, I am restoring my spirit as I did years ago.

Today’s elder idea: I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by this adventure -- your life -- what would do for you?

Mary Oliver

from ‘Evidence’ Evidence (2009)

PS: I’m pretty sure some of those GFS/AmW folk are following this blog. How did that trip years ago impact your life? How does it make a difference to you today? I’d appreciate your sharing a comment about that here. Thanks.

Crestone #6: Thomas Berry

You know, I’ve backpacked in Rocky Mountain National Park with a 4 year-old and an apprehensive wife and had a pretty good time, once I got over my altitude headache.

I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon to Phantom Ranch and back up the Bright Angel Trail four different summers with high school kids and an ornery colleague. It took some time, but everybody came out okay, none the worse for wear.

Then about ten years ago I hiked in the mountains just outside Yellowstone. After about 90 minutes on the trail and 1,000 feet in elevation, I got cramps in my legs so bad I could hardly move. It was not a very good day. Lesson learned about eating and drinking while hiking.

So today, anticipating the effects of hiking up to South Crestone Lake, guess which wild walking adventure I cared to dwell on? You guessed it. The bad one. I wimped out.

Too much physical exertion scares me as I approach my 60th year. I’m not happy to report that.

Part of it today, too, was that the trail is not carefully marked and I don’t have a topo or trail map. I think my equipment is okay, but what if I get lost or run out of water?

Still, I’m going to do it. Sooner or later before I pull out of Crestone, I’m heading up that trail just as far as my lungs can get in about three hours -- or until my body screams loud enough to make me turn around. We’ll see.

Besides the physical thing, it’s spiritual for me. Even if I don’t make the lake, I will encounter the mountain in some spiritual way. Shoot, it’s a big part why I came.

The day was not a wash out, by any means. Instead, I spent time listening to the poet/philosopher/‘geologian’ Thomas Berry on tape speaking about The Moment of Grace humanity has come to. He went on eloquently about how essential it is for every aspect of human economy to consider how everything is effected when an act is taken. He stressed creativity and our finding a positive way to set course for the future. Meaningful stuff.

My guess is the recently deceased Berry will be on my mind when I finally make way up the trail. I’ll let you know.

Today’s elder idea: Everything is sacred by its participation in the universe.

Thomas Berry

died 1 June 2009

Crestone #5: Sunday at Nada

I wonder what this place has to teach me.

I mean, I came here by such a circuitous route, all really lead by the heart, or curiosity, or whatever life force it is that encourages us to look around the next corner for an understanding of a deeper meaning to life.

There is much power here, it is said. One zen practitioner said this region’s mountains, waters, and air made for one of the best places on the planet for spiritual retreat.

Cindy and I needed a vacation, and that is what we have come for. But in addition to that, the Sangre de Cristos offer more than just time away from home. Artists, spiritualists, body workers, and outdoor activists have come here for something special.

In many ways, I feel very lucky to have come to this naturally spiritual space for whatever reason that has drawn us.

This afternoon Cindy made me a light weight shirt to help protect me from marauding mosquitoes for my walk up the South Crestone Lake trail tomorrow morning. We’re listening to Secret Garden in front of the fan. I’m trying to pay attention to my breathing and just be present in the here and now. I think we both are practicing prayer.

And I’m just curious what this place will teach us.

Oh. And by the way, how do you nourish your spirit?

Today’s elder idea: Birding for me is a form of prayer. It is communion with God. The birds are not God, but God is in the birds. The world is not to be equated with God, but God is in the world. Matter does matter, because it matters to God.

Fr. Eric Haarer

Nadan