Summer Ketchup

In my life, there are times when I write a lot, to the point of insanity, and other times when things are moving so quickly and with such intensity that I simply seize the moments passing without having the time to explore them in words. This past month+change was something like that. Moving at the speed of life itself, I haven't written much, and utterly neglected my blog. Here's a snapshot or two of catch-up...

Newlyweds Shane and Rindy Richins

April 25, 2009.

Groomsman Andy, Bridesmaid Jenn

Congratulations! Thank you for sharing your lives with me!

I moved out of SLC for the summer right after the wedding, just shy of the 12 month mark for the house I’d been in. A whole, consistent year in one place is my limit; I haven’t stayed a day longer in one house since moving away from my mom’s. This move was especially difficult, love the people, the house, my stay there was wonderful… but, hey, that's that.

Rafting season kicked off in early May with my first commercial run of the year and guide training in Moab. Here's a shot from the office, a.k.a. the Professor Valley. All of May was gypsy style, purging the routines and consistency of winter from my free-spirited soul. From that first weekend in Moab I visited a dear friend in Park City, spent a night in Idaho Falls with another friend, drove to Montana for my long-time BFF's graduation from Montana State University.

We spent the weekend partying on Main Street, hiking, enjoying the flavors of Bozeman. I reflected on the amazing phenomena of friendship, that after four years of long distance phone calls, being together just felt like home in the presence of someone I love. The following week we spent in Missoula, getting her moved out and enjoying each other's company. I scoped out the Clark Fork river and UofM as settings for possible future adventures such as kayaking and grad school. Looked promising enough.

This photo session took place in a parking garage where a friend took us to sing with the echo of concrete - he'd gone to Catholic school, and sent some amazing Gregorian chants bouncing off the walls. Good times in Montana.

The drive from Missoula to central Idaho ranked an easy top 5 for me. I love contemplative, long gorgeous drives. From Lolo over the snow covered pass to the deep, sheer canyon hosting the Lochsa, curving road, pelting rain, and clouds through cedar forest - the smell and feel and views were truly stunning. My windshield wipers were going full-boar to combat the onslaught of that heavy rain, making it easy not to envy the rafters in training, practicing rope rescue with an overturned boat through class IV+ waves.

Photo: this cherry picker coming into my lane under the overpass inspired a chuckle!

My first stop across the Idaho border was at Shorts Bar, a sandy beach upriver from Riggins where the day-long rafting trips put into the Salmon. I took some time to write, sitting on the hood of my car overlooking the moving water, reflecting the shadows of a slow Idaho sunset through the dramatic canyon. A lone trumpeter swan flew overhead, some deer passed. Everything was green and thriving from recent rain and the excitement of early spring, and I felt I could identify.

Photo: First view of the Salmon from Twin Bridges, 2009. That little green sign says Salmon River, I promise. ;)

I spent the next three days training with Brundage, the company I will spend the latter half of the summer guiding for, rowing big, delicious Idaho whitewater. I am stoked to return to the home state. Our family cabin in central Idaho is, of anywhere on earth, the physical location I feel most at home at. And the Salmon River very well may be my next great love affair. My grandma has been telling everyone she wants me to "Find a nice Idaho boy to marry, so she'll stop leaving all the time." We'll see about that. ;)

After training with Brundage, spending a week with family in Boise and a few days in Park City, I've landed for a whole month in the little desert hamlet of Moab, Utah, where I am spending the month of June. I couldn't have a summer without at least a little time here, I am so grateful that it’s worked out for me and my employers.

The La Salle mountains from the Hidden Valley. Moab, UT.

Life in Moab has been spinning at it's normal, crazed rate, and I have been loving it. I got right to work guiding trips, and have been exchanging room and board with my friends' family for work as a ranch hand and some housekeeping chores. I have to say, I love ranching. It's a mysterious, earthy art, a task for the disciplined, an expression of being in tune with life. I'm inspired by it. The ranch here has been operating for over a hundred years, and is a precious little oasis in the middle of Moab, obscured on both sides by cottonwoods trees that grow alongside Millcreek and Pack Creek. I'll write a separate blog about it, it's too amazing for just this paragraph. Here is a preliminary photo, guess how the hay gets from the field to the trailer to the barn... ?

The veterans here keep trying to convince me that buckin' bales isn't fun. I was and am still pretty excited about it. :)

This weekend some friends came down from SLC to do a day trip on Westwater, one of the west's famous and scenic whitewater sections. I slept out under the stars the night prior, listening to the sounds of the river and mosquitos squealing in my ear. When we took off in the morning, our guide, my friend Jack, was a little apprehensive. A life flight helicopter flew by right after we passed a bald eagle, seemingly contradictory omens. Needless to say, we paddled on. Jack swam a little bit of Funnel Falls, but steered a clean line for us through Skull Rapid, an infamous class IV hole known for claiming lives on it's "Rock of Shock" and accompanying "Room of Doom" - a massive, swirling whirlpool to the right of the main current.

Our crew!

Paddle Captain Jack and me!

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So, there it is, a snapshot update of my summer, so far.

I've thought lately that my wish for the world is that beauty of the earth and simplicity of life won't be overpowered or obscured by stress, cynicism, or mundane and necessary tasks. We're only here once, pretty sure. Live it up. After all, "life is too short to be against everything,"a mentor of mine once said on the waters of the Salmon River.

Love ya. Be well.

JH

Alta Gala 2009

Some photos from a gorgeous night at La Caille, in celebration of Alta's 70th anniversary. A tapas dinner, silent auction, and funk dancing into the night to the sounds of Lake Effect, 3/5 of whom are Alta season pass holders.

Out of normal ski garb, goggle-tans glowing, we were all pleasantly suprised to become acquainted under the greenhouse canopy, a drastic change from our usual elements.

The sensation of feeling as if one is in the right place at the right time is so elusive, and relentlessly pursued. In some cases, ignored for years until it rears as an instinctual longing. The confining ideal of fate dictating the course of one's life is popular, like all things that are easy tend to be. Life is way more complex than that, and because of the one-dimensional limitations of fate and destiny, I am quick to dismiss them. Skew it a little differently, like a scavenger hunt where you make all the calls but may or may not come upon the right opportunities, and I feel more inclined to embrace.


I feel that in coming to Alta for the past four years, I've landed myself in the right place for me - met the people who would teach me the applicable lessons of this chapter of my life, experienced the natural beauty of the Wasatch in a way that will forever change my energy and zest for life.


Love these folks. So very much.

Aluminum Echoes of Birdsong

Christmas was a blur of humanity and western landscape, a few of my favorite things. I flew home Tuesday night, played Christmas Wednesday morning with my sister Dami – I was too excited to give her climbing shoes and take them for a smear to wait until Christmas day, when the gym would be closed and I would be back in Salt Lake.

Our Christmas Eve climb date, following in the monthly tradition we’ve had going since September, was a trash-talking giggle fest, with a pleasant surprise this time; we met a new climb/ski buddy, a fellow Idaho native who we both agreed probably crossed our paths by divine inspiration. Family time was mellow, full of good humor about bad times, awful jokes and retelling of good times. The best part of family is nestling in to a world where people are irreplaceable, where you aren’t anonymous, where every interaction is tangibly laced with history and understanding. Christmas morning, I woke up hung over from a late night chat/debate with mom, drove across an unusually snow-coated Boise, built Lego creatures with my bro TJ for hours, breakfasting with his side of the family, and stopping to see Grace for the first time in over a year. (A year is far too long to go without being even remotely near my “other” sister!) After that happy chain of events, I set sail to the skies, being only briefly delayed in the Boise airport – which, if you’ve flown through there, you might know that it’s just a fancy glass birdcage. The resident birds of the east corridor were chirping away by the B gates, singing Christmas songs – foreshadowing for the flight, where an enthusiastic and off-key flight attendant chirped a “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on behalf of Southwest Airlines. Christmas night found me right at home in my present location, with another family I love dearly and treasure my time with. Holidays are special, not because of dates and obligation, but rather the collective good will and love that seems to reach through the Universe and tie people together, regardless of the "reason for the season."

Today, the barely-four, adorable little girl I was skiing with looked up and said, "This is fun, I love you." I looked right back at her and said "I love you too, McKenzie." Cheesy as that may sound, it was a simple, beautiful interchange. In my personal, non-public writing, I've been musing about that expression often, for months. Frankly, I've feared it, held it back, kicked it away from me and pretended I didn't hear it more than a few times. In my young adult mind, "I love you" had implications, expectations, held a certain level of the harnesses of the enemy: commitment. Over a year ago, I found myself in a house where that changed.

It was my first experience living with a family, a whole family whose ties and security hadn't been charred by the firestorm of divorce, for the first time in well over a decade. "I love you" was a liberally applied statement of affection, for those little moments simple greeting at the door, jubilant expressions during passionate conversations on any topic, part of the ointment routine for the bruises and bumps of children. "I love you" was written in the dish suds of that house, scrolled in the hardwood floors, placed in vases in the center of the kitchen table. Honestly, it made me uncomfortable for a while, and I didn't know what to say. The "I love yous" never abandoned me or begged a return of sentiment, no matter how quiet I was, how little heed I gave them.

In time, I had come to understand that reciprocation is not a requirement of a sincere "I love you," and tear-jerkingly emotional, expectation-laced yoking wasn't part of the game either. In fact, saying "I love you" isn't a game at all.

In a way, living there healed my negative associations with the words, and better yet, it healed the pathways between my heart and my brain, where "I love you" didn't send me running for the broom closet when I felt it bubbling to the surface of my own emotions, and the idea of someone feeling and expressing love for me didn't send me turtling into the collar of my own shirt.

Not that I've shouted it from the rooftop, or desecrated it with over-use or misapplication. I'm miles from that kind of behavior. But I have said it where it counts, and no longer fear the words "I love you" where they rightly belong and are backed by sincere feeling.

On a lighter note, I adore flying. For one thing, I get whole hours to sit still, uninterrupted. No matter how little I have in terms of luxury, even the cheapest flight feels like an opulence high. Something about being sardined in a sailing tin can with a bunch of folks I don’t even know, who clutch novels I’ve never read and share my oxygen, just seems oh-so exciting. The journey is always beautiful, in all my travels, but when I elect to take a plane, it usually means something about the destination is worth hurrying for, and I love the feeling of that energy coursing through me – anticipation, excitement.

I hope your year dwindles away in a sequence of beautiful winter days, and unfolds into an advent of re-birth, the turn of a pristine page on which you can write whatever you please.

In the traditional Icelandic way of saying goodbye, which I’ve become fond of…
Bless bless!

Fall 2008

The last day of JH's nanny career, for the time being.

Ski season has started off to a dull roar. There's not much snow in the Wasatch, the south facing side of Little Cottonwood is remarkably dirty for this time of year, but the runs are soft and the skiers have come into their shells, out of their eastern abodes.

Seven seasons in, I love teaching skiing more every day.

I spent this weekend in the wonderful company of a beautiful little girl from St. Louis and her family. It's amazing to be in a place where individuals and families come to enjoy life, and I get to be a part of their experience. I am truly blessed.

On one of our rides this afternoon, we shared the chair with a man from Manhattan. He asked a lot of questions about my life - and the picture I painted for him was (my reality) : I ski in the winter, am taking my time through school, and have spent a good part of the past three summers running rivers.

The man looks at me and he says "What do you think you are, some kind of diety, that you get to take the best of life and just do that?"

And I'm sure I laughed, and was pleasant, and didn't gloat too much.

Here for the Holiday

After climbing indoors this eve, I was covered in dusty grime - I have no idea how that happened. Dami is killing me on the wall. She has some sort of natural aptitude for the sport that I lack. Where she sends gracefully, I muscle with deliberation and a little too much effort. Today was not a strong day at the gym, but we sure had a great time, and the mutual afterthought is that I should come home and we should get memberships together, and really commit/get into it. I don’t know if I can handle getting completely whooped by my kid sis just yet. ;) This pic is us, being ridiculous and loving every second of it.

Climbing was a good release from a tension-filled, uncomfortable lunch outing with Ma’s side of the fam. I don’t have much to say about it… but in the future, when the term Anti-Christ gets thrown into political discussion, I am going to silently back my way out of the room. I love my relatives, but we come at politics from a completely different frame of reference.

I chased TJ through a playground like a six year old yesterday. It was a fall day in Boise, the grey kind of day where fog clings to the trees, and steam rises off of the goose pond. We stomped across the playground bridge, dove head first through its tunnels. I followed his every move like there were no years between us, no separate planes on which we exist, no vague and uncomfortable connections. I was right there, right on his heels, flinging myself down the slide and tripping on the wood chunks, laughing, playing… I’m the only biggest sister he’s got. Why let fifteen years divide us?

And so it is in my time here, everything is a little richer, every emotion is a little deeper, every meal is shared. There is no, I repeat no, snow on the visible face of the mountains, so I’m running away to the Wasatch again on Friday, with only the memory of a day chasing bro, belaying sis, chatting with Pa til we’re both blinking back sleep, not wanting to stop the flow of dialogue dammed for so many years. A few more drops in the bucket of learning to be an individual, a complete and whole creature in the presence of Ma, with whom my allegiance has always taken part in my self-definition. A wonderful new friend, a reconnection with an old friend, some good advice, and some jaded politics. And of course, whatever delicious moments tomorrow brings.

This is Thanksgiving 2008, the beginning of a new season, the start of all things mayhem at work for the next month or so, the only November 26 where each of us resides at this age and phase…

The only day just like today. I can proudly say, I made the most of it, and loved every second.

Karma calling!

Foreword: This is a lil bit of something I've been working on, to illustrate the early-twenties feelings on the early-twenties Journey - the cat and mouse dating game. Warning: content infused with sarcasm, author mildly jaded. ;)

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They say that love is blind – love is not blind.

Infatuation, on the other hand, at least when unreciprocated….*
Contracts a unique hearing impairment, shifting claims such as:

“I’m not interested in a relationship with you.”
Which translates directly to: “I’m dying for you to ram more of your self-absorbed dialogue about how I’m wrong about this into my brain.”

“No.”
Translates to: “Maybe! Ask again! I secretly adore you and will eventually give you the answer you seek.”

“This isn’t working out for me - please don’t try to contact me again.”
Translates to: “RARRR, I love a relentless stalking! You’re killing my resistance softly, tiger.”

“The attraction isn’t mutual.”
Translates to: “The nauseated look is part of the game, I’ll jump you very very soon.”

*Has also been linked to pathetic, clumsy behavior, and absence of grace.
*Often features a defunct sense of smell, an icky touch, vision skewed by its own interest.

Infatuation lacks sense(s). Period.


All were in the same boat of undesirability and sugar coated ease, which I wanted to kick from my shores forever and shoot flaming arrows at, like a medieval death raft.

Better to have it far, far from me – whether I sit upon shores of denial, ego, and self righteousness or not...

The one saying that my passion for skiing would have to pass pending our nuptials; too expensive and risky for a wife of his, who needed to be preserved like waxy casserole in airtight Tupperware, changing diapers and living dependently off his stingily dispersed income. And this, darling, is the noble definition of teamwork!

Another, a scorpion angrily demanding a sacred place in my agenda, touting his presence in my life as “the best thing that ever happened “; defining me with all the accuracy of a self absorbed, reality skewed prick. Truly, the senselessness of infatuation personified.

And another, lovingly throwing elbows into my life, arriving breathless and out of tune, like a happy hound… asking no pertinent questions, making many arrogant assumptions, and criticizing my claims. I loved the walk around the park, but no, I don’t want to take you home. Yes, I do know that for sure, and thank you for reminding me how little you think of my ability to reason.

And so on and so forth, down the line of unreciprocated crushes.
Perhaps their little flames were stoked by my disdain –

I know there’s sometimes nothing hotter than the unavailable mystery
Of someone so distant from touching anything vulnerable in you
Incapable of shattering a carefully constructed, independent façade.

And there’s some sort of relief in disinterest – no spotlights
No emotional search warrants
You’re safe here, ducked into the void.

The beginning...

Oddly enough, considering the amount of time I spend writing, I've never kept a consistent blog. Occasional rants on Myspace... but nothing particularly noteworthy.

I won't say that things are about to get consistent or routine here, but I'm interested in the opportunity for the first time.

Some things about my life, in the October of my twenty second year. Some things that may or may not be of any interest to the planet, but have profound significance in the existence I call my own.

I live in a wonderful house in my favorite residential spot in the state of Utah, at the base of the Wasatch mountains. A Major Leaguer could probably hit the face of one of the Twin Peaks from the front yard, and my ski commute this winter will involve walking down the block and hopping on the bus.

The family whom I share my new home with is made up of some of the most down-to-earth, pleasant adventurers I've come across yet, renting out a quiet back room in their mountainside "beach house," having freshly returned from a summer surfing excursion on the island of Maui.

I'm settling into a vibrant fall rhythym in the rugged arms of the Wasatch, embracing the academic life and watching anxiously for the arrival of the first signs of winter.

Despite the beauty, serenity, and ample challenges around me, my heart still lives, in part, in Idaho. I miss my family every single day. I'm constantly aware of the little things I miss in the lives of my brother and sister a state away, and despite my love of my surroundings, hear a call in my soul to return to my roots sooner rather than later.

So here I am, plugging through community college, listening to the vibrations of the universe, navigating my way as best I can to meet all the calls that come to me and lay the foundation for my future. Yikes!

This summer was intense and chaotic, I took on WAY too many credits of school, and had very little consistency in my schedule. I gained some experience and confidence in my abilities; it was by no means a wash. A few highlights: kicking off the off-season with a DC trip to visit Destiny, surviving summer semester, watching my Dad cross the finish line in the Boise half Ironman, reading books with my bro, spending time with the little H-G's and Emma (kids I love!) Fourth of July in Moab and some memorable river trips with Red River Adventures. Making some amazing new friends, keeping/getting in touch with some cherished old friends, clumsily confessing my affection to a good chum. Turning 22 at the cabin with my beloved maternal side of the fam, and starting work on a novel there, favorite vinyls playing in the background and the woodstove keeping me toasty warm.

It's a good life. :)