I feel REALLY guilty. I’ve neglected you for awhile, but mostly because I’ve been working in Arizona and Colorado for the past month. Fire season is definitely here. As Martha Scanlan would say, “Was the Year the West Was Burning…”
As much as I love fire, work makes us neglect the things [people] we love most. I’m working on that…not neglecting people I love. That’s important.
Anyway, a small update:
I spent the past month fighting fires, applying for jobs, hanging out with loved ones, and I just got back from a weekend in Salmon, ID. I will update you more with pictures and stories when I have more time and a more calm heart/mind.
As for the Elephant Journal article about the Granite Mountain Hotshots, I thank everyone who read it, shared it, and responded to it. Here’s the link for anyone who would like to read it:
Blessings to all involved with this tragedy. Healing will happen…don’t you worry! The sun will always rise the next morning.
And we always have each other’s love…even the love of those who have passed away.
i’ve spent the day running fast up City Creek and working at the Hotshot base, and I filled the evening hanging out with people I love and the Juno griffon puppy. I miss them terribly when I am fighting fire…but I always look forward to the slobbery, furry, ecstatic greeting when I get home. It’s love–unconditional. We could learn a lot from dogs about how to treat one another.
I always miss that mountain and that dog. Always and wherever I happen to go. I’m gonna call it the Big Rock Candy Mountain for awhile, mostly because I had a literary re-experience over the weekend.
Here’s part of a song to ponder:
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
by Harry McClintock
One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
And he said, “Boys, I’m not turning
I’m headed for a land that’s far away
Besides the crystal fountains
So come with me, we’ll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There’s a land that’s fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
I read Wallace Stegner’s When the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs at the Salmon Library this weekend, and I fell back in love with the song by Harry McClintock. And I just love bluebirds in general…my spirit animal.
And I love you, bluebirds! Be well. More to come soon!