A Beautiful Day on the Bitterroot (in photos)

Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.

Mary Oliver

 

The snow-heavy clouds moving in.

The sun started peaking through.

A very happy Eiger!

The trees are almost bare now.

Look closer...there's an 18 (or so) in. mountain whitefish down there.

An old magpie nest.

A snowflake catches the fleeing light of the sun.

There has been a beaver keeping busy nearby lately.

My boys enjoying the beautiful Bitterroot.

A red tailed hawk soars high overhead.

Simply beautiful.

Just the tops of the trees hold a few leaves...and the snow begins to fall.

After a swim.

A red-naped sapsucker...

...with a busy red-breasted nuthatch...

The nuthatch checking us out...and also traveling with...

...a flock of black-capped chickadees. They all surrounding us at the end of our walk. They move so fast that they're hard to get a good picture of, so this is the best I could do after about 15 minutes of sitting in the middle of the flock during their busy feeding time.

Gratitude

It has been an absolutely gorgeous fall. We've had an unusual number of sunny days (or at least it seems that way), the colors have been spectacular and long lasting, and the wildlife has been abundant. I've been feeling an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude lately. Last night and the night before, as the glowing full moon illuminated the sky, I heard coyotes, maybe only 50 yards from our house, yipping, howling, and what can only be described as celebrating or rejoicing (I may be anthropomorphizing, but it's so hard to feel any other way about their joyful and wild calls once you've heard them). The raw beauty of that sound excites me, and makes me feel alive.

 The ducks and geese take advantage of the pond before it completely freezes over.

One of the reasons I love the transition of the seasons most is the changing presence of so many birds. Bald eagles have been flying over our house, announcing their presence with their long, shrill call, making their way to or from the river where they can be seen every day now, circling high above and perching on a now bare towering cottonwood. A lone, charcoal gray dipper sang on the bank of the river a few days ago as we walked by--we stopped to listen to the long, warbling, breathtakingly beautiful sound (scroll down on the link and listen to the call, it will enchant you). A flicker landed on the railing of our deck a couple of days ago and snuggled right up next to a bird statue that we have, looking toward the window and then pecking at pine cones in a nearby ponderosa. The black-capped chickadees have been more exuberant than ever in recent weeks, coming in flocks, and chirping and singing as they clear the trees of their seeds on their way to their wintering grounds. The great blue heron that spends most of its days near our house on the river continues to startle me as I round a corner and its enormous and slow flapping wings carry it above us. And the great horned owl has already begun its winter mating calls from the cottonwood stands at Lolo Pond. The wild mallards are still around and noisily quacking at Lolo Pond every morning when I walk by, but their numbers are dwindling as more migrate south every day. And every evening I get the great blessing of hearing Canada geese honking in great V's overhead--one of my favorite things about living near a river and in the migration path of so many waterfowl.

The sky has been dynamic and mesmerizing (as it so often is in Montana), and my heart is filled on a daily basis by way the lighting in the evening and early morning that makes everything look so alive and beautiful. The ponds are just beginning to freeze, sheets of ice breaking up into large plates by the afternoon, and in the morning, the fallen leaves hold a powdery, shimmering layer of frost from the gathering and settling of the night's cold heavy air. I am so grateful for the beauty that we get to experience living here near Lolo Pond and the Bitterroot River--and the diverse beauty of being here on this amazing planet.

And then, my dear friend Deanna sent me this link. It is very, very well worth the time it takes to watch it. My teacher posted this to her Facebook page and wrote, so clearly and beautifully (as usual): "Gratitude for this day, AS IT IS, nothing added. Just This."

This is incredibly powerful, isn't it? And for me, also incredibly auspicious in its timing. Gratitude has been a theme in my life lately, and one I want to stick around. I recently was reminded of the important practice of thinking of (or writing, or speaking) the things that you are grateful for when you wake up, on your way to work, before dinner, or before bed. This simple practice has transformed my days, and my life--I am going to make it a ritual in my life instead of letting it slip away as I have in the past. I hope all of you are able to do the same. Blessings of gratitude on this auspicious day!

Taking a Seat

"Taking a seat" below Never Laughs Mountain on the southeast side of Glacier National Park...a place and a practice that brings me to my Heart.

 

I just finished a lovely yoga practice entitled "Take Your Seat" with an incredible teacher, Noah Maze; and I also took a class last night with a focus on coming into your Heart with a teacher who has quickly made her way into my heart, Elena Brower. These two classes touched something in me, as they so often do. YogaGlo has been an important part of my life lately because it has kept me connected to very skilled yoga instructors in a time when I have had difficulty attending regular yoga classes. Of course, in-person yoga classes and workshops have been what have transformed my practice the most. Nothing can replace having a teacher in a room with you, especially when you're a beginner--but YogaGlo has offered me a way to stay connected to the teachings, and I am incredibly grateful for that. I'm not here to advertise for YogaGlo, but I will speak to the importance of steady practice; whether that means sitting by the river for fifteen minutes every day or doing yoga for some amount of time regularly. Steady practice is ultimately what allows you to remain in your Heart through whatever comes up and does its best to distract you.

As I begin to think about Monday and the week ahead of me, I start to feel uprooted. Today I became totally unnecessarily verbally aggressive with Ryan a couple of times for (now that I think of it) nothing at all except for anxiety about the 10,000 things to come. This is what happens when I move from my seat, in my Heart, to the periphery, in my mind. I've notice within my body lately how physical that uprooting is. I become harder--I tense the muscles in my face and in my core, my shoulders rise up, and my breathing becomes faster and more shallow. When I am able to take a seat in my Heart, I settle back, I become more expansive, my face relaxes, and I am softer, physically, mentally, and spiritually. I know a lot of people who may scoff at the idea of being able to "be" in one's heart, seeing it only as a physical thing--a muscle and organ that pumps blood. But, like so many other spiritual things, words sometimes have to fill a really tall order. The Heart is something much greater, and if you've felt it, you know what I mean (give it the word Heart or not, it doesn't really matter--but I will say that in the teachings of yoga and in my own experience, it does reside approximately where the physical heart resides). The Heart I'm speaking of is the expansive feeling you get when you are taking in a beautiful sight, listening to children playing or a powerful song, or getting to take part in making someone else's life more joyful for a time. It's something I think everyone has experienced, whether they have a name for it or not. The difficult part is staying there.

Most of us have this habit--of residing in our mind a whole lot more than our Heart--and I think the way modern life has a lot to do with that. There are a lot of distractions (technology, media), a lot of pressures (Americans work more hours than any other developed nation, and for many of us, it's just to get by), and not a lot of encouragement in modern American culture to connect to what is Real. I would say this tendency is very closely connected to the tendency Americans have to change our place of residence a lot (the average American moves 11.7 times in a lifetime!). The idea of being rooted in a place is quickly being replaced by the desire to bounce around until we find "happiness"--or perhaps more often, wealth. And the funny thing is, in my experience it's being rooted in a place that allows me to really take a seat in my Heart. I'm not saying you can't move around and be in your Heart at the same time. In fact, in the yoga class I just took with Noah Maze, he spoke of the importance of your asana, or your body, or your Heart, being your Home; that Home should be portable and accessible wherever you are, like the home of a turtle that moves with them on their back. But, as someone who believes strongly in the importance of Place, I think we shouldn't underestimate the power of staying. Most people aren't equipped to move around constantly and stay plugged in to the Source. Hell, most people aren't equipped to stay in one place and stay plugged in to the Source. I am one of the "most" that I speak of!

But, let's just say that we stopped moving around all the time--physically, we found a home and got to know it deeply, and raised our children there, and invested our energy there instead of moving as soon as we felt discontent--and spiritually, we stuck to our teachings (non-dogmatically, of course) and let them grow and develop with time instead of switching to the next belief system when it got uncomfortable. Would we then be more able to reside in our Hearts? Can you imagine a world where we were all connected to the Source, all the time? There would be so much more laughter, kindness, and beauty! What a thought! I'm not saying if everyone lived in one place for their whole life we would know world peace. I definitely know many people who move around the country and the world (in fact, many very amazing yoga teachers), and stay tapped in a whole lot more than some people I know who have never moved an inch from their home. But, I do think there's something to say about staying; about rooting yourself physically so that you can truly take a seat in your Heart. For some, that may mean having a steady practice that roots you to the Source (meditation, church, asana, , etc.). But for those who have not had the great blessing of having a teacher or a practice that brings you Home, maybe that means rooting yourself physically to the Earth and becoming a part of one Place that you can forever call Home. It's a thought.

Seasons of Wonder

The Bitterroot River on my daily walk near my home.
 
There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. 

 Albert Einstein

I used to dread winters. I hated being cold, feeling forced to limit my outside activity because of fear of falling on the ice, having to layer up and look like a walking Michelin man, and I was terrified of driving. I admit, I still find myself avoiding the thought of the "ice and inversion season" that takes over the Missoula Valley for two or three months every year. But regardless of the inconveniences that inevitably accompany the deep of winter, the more present I become, the more I appreciate it for its own unique beauty. I adapt by doing simple things like driving slower, cooking eating seasonal food, cherishing the comfort and warmth of my home, and appreciating the feel of invigorating and crisp winter air on my skin and in my lungs.

I recently thought to myself that if there is one thing that I would miss the most if I was no longer able to live here on this spectacular Earth, it would be the amazing blessing of being able to observe the way the world transforms with the changes of seasons. Today it was a crisp kind of cold all day. The trees have dropped over half of their leaves, quietly passing the unspoken mid-point between fall and winter. I felt a slight sense of sadness to be saying goodbye to the colors--I love fall, perhaps more than any other season (if I could pick a favorite, that is)--but only in the way one feels sadness when leaving a place that you know you will return to, and not so long from now.

The changes that occur in the world around me are so alive, so dynamic, and so fascinating. But many of these shifts are subtle, and in order to notice them, one must know a place well. Over time, I watch the the way one large rock just off of the shore that I pass on my daily walk on the Bitterroot bends and rolls the river over its round body differently as the water level fluctuates, from the swift depth after a rush of snow melt in the late spring to the slow shallowness after the drying of the summer. I know seasons by how the feeling of the world transforms--from the quiet settling of the autumn to the bright and exuberant popping of the early summer.  In my experience, when I commit my attention to the ways the natural world and its inhabitants (including humans) adapt to the changes in how the Sun shines upon our little section of the Earth, it becomes impossible to not feel an incredible sense of wonder for any particular part of this truly marvelous cycle.

Eiger (and Love)

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. 

Chief Seattle

My job can be difficult. It is an amazing amount of fun at times, and it is incredibly fulfilling, but sometimes when I come home I am absolutely drained. To back up a little, I am a "Youth Development Coordinator" at Hellgate High School for a drug and alcohol prevention-focused organization called the Flagship Program. I coordinate after school programs, spend a lot of time just being there for the kids, and I am responsible for many of the events that happen at the school. It's a great job. In fact, I spent my day today teaching yoga to 120 kids (give or take) for P.E. classes, which tells you how wonderful and flexible my job can be. I feel incredibly fortunate to be doing such meaningful work. However, today is one of those days that I came home totally exhausted. Working with so many people on a regular basis, especially emotional teenagers, can be an energy drain. I haven't quite figured out the boundaries and practices involved in, as my yoga instructor and mentor Karen Sprute-Francovich said in a recent blog post, staying "tethered by a strong chord to what lives in the middle." I hope that with time and continued practice I will find that ability.

But somehow, when I come home, the stress and anxiety of my day often all melts away. Nowadays, my favorite thing in the world is returning from a long day to our "long house" (fancy name for a single-wide) to my husband, Ryan, and my dog, Eiger. Ryan is my best friend and the greatest source of joy in my life. But Eiger is something else. He makes me laugh constantly and is endless source of love and devotion. So I think now is a good time for a story about one of the great animal-loves-of-my-life. This is a picture of the big guy from this summer:

Yes, he is incredibly adorable and ridiculously loveable (I am biased, but seriously!). He's a big, healthy, happy dog now. But his beginnings were not so great, to say the least.

Ryan is from East Glacier Park, Montana (you will learn much, much more about this truly special place in the not-so-distant future--more to come!). We lived there for three summers before deciding to do the grad school thing in Missoula. The summer we were married, 2010, I was working at the store in town and finding LOTS of puppies. It was a little ridiculous. I knew I had found the right man for me when he simply rolled his eyes each time I brought a new puppy home to our 18' trailer we were living in on Ryan's grandmother's property. It was literally about one or two puppies a week all summer. We found homes for most of them through an incredible network of inspiring, dedicated animal lovers in the wonderful town of East Glacier. But when a coworker of mine found Eiger outside and came in saying "Ashley, I found another puppy," I had a feeling this would be the one we would actually keep. And the second I met him, I fell hard. He was absolutely filthy, and after feeding him and sending him for a bath and some love from my amazing dog rescuer friend Deb while I finished up my shift, I went to pick him up. The first thing he did when I put him down in the yard was poop plastic bags and rocks. He was terrified of people, and I heard later that he had been frequenting the local bar, the Trailhead. He was desperate.

 Here he is looking cleaned up and feeling a whole lot better than when we first found him.

Anyway, he went on to become incredibly sick. I was sure he would die (I thought he had parvo, which was going around town at the time). I was an absolute wreck the day Ryan took him to the vet outside of Cut Bank (who is a saint) while I was mentally tortured for an entire 12 hour shift at the store. It turned out it wasn't parvo, thank God, and we slowly nursed him back to health. I can only imagine the kinds of things he was fighting in that little body of his.

We brought him back to Missoula for school, and despite a really touchy stomach, he got stronger and bigger all the time. Until, at about 6 months old, he completely fractured his fibula and tibia running up icy stairs while he was playing at my parents' house. After an (ah hem) almost $2,000 surgery, he was o.k. In fact, his leg is great now thanks to an awesome team at Patty Prado's office.

Poor photo quality, but you get the point! 

Needless to say, Eiger is a success story. I tell this story not just because Ryan and I love him a ridiculous amount, but also because I think it speaks to the Power of Love. Who knows what would have happened to Eiger without a few people with big hearts getting involved? Each and every life that crosses our path is an opportunity to do something good--something that helps heal and brings more love into the world. Why, then, do we so often pass up these opportunities? Why not approach life with an Open Heart? What are we so afraid of?

Today on the river taking in the breathtaking fall colors and LOVING my pup.

The Critters of Lolo Pond

I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid 

and self-contain'd,

I stand and look at them long and long.

Walt Whitman

I spent my morning feeding, rounding up, petting, and quietly observing the animals at my parent's house, wild and domestic alike. My folks are out of town this weekend, and while I was dreading waking up early on my first free weekend in two months (self pity is so counterproductive, isn't it?), I couldn't have been happier once I found myself surrounded by ducks and geese, dogs, miniature horses, a goat, cats, and rats (yes, rats...they are truly quite lovely animals who, like so many misunderstood animals, deserve more respect as a species..."Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf," said Aldo Leopold). I won't begin a rant about the wrongs of hating an animal just because of the connotations and reputations that precede them, but I will say that spending time with those animals that are demonized by so many humans is an important lesson in impartiality. To be able to remove our preconceived notions and simply observe the traits and dispositions of misunderstood animals is an action of love that can be spread throughout our relationships with all beings.

The intimate relationships I have with the animals in my life I believe is what has made me as compassionate as I am as a human being. So, I thought I'd share some pictures today to introduce my readers to Lolo Pond and the critters that live here and that I love so dearly.

It is an absolutely beautiful autumn morning here in Lolo, Montana. On the walk to the pond from my house, the frigid fall air made my cheeks pink, but the warmth of the sun was already beginning to thaw the frost off of the rocks. 

 Long-legs, our sweet outdoor kitty.

 Eiger, our amazing dog (you'll inevitably hear more about him in future posts), and Wylie, his very best friend.

 Wylie is very special. He was a feral dog and was terrified of humans when we first found him. He started to hang around my parents house when the other dogs were out. After three months or so, my mom tricked him inside on a negative five degree day two years ago. He has been a happy member of the Leach family "motley crew" every since!

 Lucy the goose.

 Sadie gazing at the ducks.

Ali, our spirited and incredibly sweet mini.

Gimpy (so politically incorrect, I know), our three-legged rescue goat.

Lovely Lila!

And Kola, our wonderful head-case-of-a-dog. We got her when I was 15.

There are more critters that you will get to know (many more, actually). I'll post more pictures soon. In the meantime, I'm going to go enjoy this gorgeous fall day outside!

Sense of Place

Alright, I have to begin by being upfront: I don't really live on Lolo Pond. To be even more honest, Lolo Pond is a totally made up name for the man-made pond that sits below my mom and dad's house. (We live in Lolo--clever, eh?) My folks do, however, live just down the street from me--and being 26, I still consider their house my house (does that ever go away?). My husband and I thought "On Lolo Pond" was a clever name for a blog...like On Golden Pond...you know, with Katharine Hepburn, Henry and Jane Fonda...o.k., maybe it's a stretch. I also live about 100 yards from the Bitterroot River in Lolo, Montana. And that little pond and the mighty river that feeds it is a big part of me and my sense of place.

What I believe about becoming a part of a place is that you must listen to it deeply, know it well, visit it often, and immerse yourself in that place until you know its other inhabitants--humans, animals, trees, and rocks alike--in a way that makes it difficult to discern them from your Self. Just like you sometimes feel with a good friend, a lover, or a family member. Self, with a capital -S, because it's that Self that is Beauty, that is Nature, that is bigger than our inevitably impermanent image of our self (little -s), that is Everything. It deserves a capital letter. And also, I love to capitalize things that mean something to me, so get used to it. I realize I'm getting pretty deep pretty fast. But stick with me. I'm new to this and am anxious to find my voice.

I'm not here to preach, but I am here to share my own perspective of remaining tied of nature in a time when so many of us feel estranged from, or even fearful of, that which is wild. I hope that my experiences, on a little pond in Lolo and on adventures around my homeland, will inspire others to have their own forays into nature and touch what is Real. My yoga practice, studentship, study, and teaching, will inevitably make it's way into this blog as well (I find it deeply connected to my experiences in nature). So will my experiences working with teens as a youth worker and after school program coordinator at Hellgate High School in Missoula (I find it deeply connected to my growth). And of course, what is a good blog without good photographs or art? I will share images that inspire me. And I will challenge myself to be creative in this space and outside of it. So enjoy, check in often, and share your own experiences and thoughts. I look forward to it!

 A few of the happy inhabitants of Lolo Pond--painted turtles.