Category: Rocky Mountain National Park

Tree

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

tree1024x1024There is a tree in Rockport, Texas that has been growing in the same spot for centuries. Some wise soul thought to save the old oak forever by declaring it an historical treasure and building a fence around it. People travel from all parts of the world just to stand under the shade of the sprawling limbs and to marvel at the girth of the ancient trunk. They snap photos of the wondrous image and try to imagine what the old tree has seen in its time on this earth. If only it could talk we might hear of native people pausing under its branches to rest after a day of hunting and fishing or learn of explorers from Spain who traveled along the Gulf Coast searching for cities of gold. Did the tree once see vast flocks of whooping cranes wintering in the area in their annual journey from Canada? How did it manage to withstand the forces of tropical storms and punishing hurricanes? What is its secret to long life?

We humans have love/hate relationships with trees. We plan trips to Vermont in the fall to marvel at the glorious colors of leaves but also cut down beautiful specimens to make way for factories. We plant trees in the yards of our new homes that once sat in forests that we eliminated to build our suburban communities. We enshrine trees in metaphorical poetry even as we topple them in real life. We use them for our own whims often forgetting that they are helping to provide the very oxygen that we breathe. They cool us and shelter us and we all too often take them for granted. When we flee from natural disasters we abandon them to bear the brunt of wind and water and fire.

Along the Big Thompson Canyon on the road leading from Loveland, Colorado to Estes Park is the dead stump of a once mighty tree. It is bent and gnarled into a contortion created by the power of the river that took homes from their foundations and turned nature’s bounty into piles of rubble. Somehow that tree has become a work of art. Its determination to hold fast to the rocks in which it once grew is a testament to its strength and flexibility. It stands as a sentinel as rugged as the huge boulders along the face of the canyon. It has somehow withstood the onslaught of both nature and humans.

We personify trees. They teach us lessons. We track our human history in their branches. We have a special kinship with trees, especially when we are hot and weary. We sit under their branches cooling ourselves and dreaming of futures that we may never see but they are more likely to enjoy. Trees remind us of ourselves as they travel along with us through the seasons and the years. They are our silent partners in a lifetime journey.

My paternal grandmother was a child of nature. Her father and her grandmother are buried in a national forest in Arkansas where their homestead once resided. It seems fitting that her ancestral home is now protected and allowed to return to a wild and unfettered state. She so loved to walk in the woods under a canopy of trees that sheltered the birds and critters that she enjoyed. When she died my grandfather handpicked a spot in the cemetery that sits under a grove of oaks whose limbs reach gracefully over her final resting place. She would have loved the serenity of the area. In life she marveled at nature’s wonders and seemed almost to be a mischievous sprite as she wandered in the forest behind her farm naming every tree, plant and bird that crossed her path.

Hanging on the wall at the entrance to my home is an image of an enormous tree spreading its limbs across a landscape of green. I have placed it there to welcome my guests and to remind myself of the glories of the natural world. The painting calms me and makes me smile. Gazing at it takes me to my roots. I think of the people whom I never met who had to live in order that I might now exist. Like the tree they once began with a tiny seed and then reached to the heavens with their dreams, becoming ever stronger with each new branch. I know their names but not their stories. I can only imagine what their lives had been based on what I know about the places where they lived. I wonder what they would think of me and the world in which I exist. I suspect that they would be happy that things have turned out as well for me and my extended clan as they have. After all, each of us wants the best for our children and grandchildren. We want to know that they will be safe.

One of my favorite books is Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. I have presented it as a gift many times over. I never tire of its story of unconditional love and sacrifice. I have now travelled through almost seven decades from the time when I was born. I have been the child, the teenager, the young adult, the middle aged individual and now the old person described in the tale. I have known both the exuberance and the drudgery of life, sometimes forgetting the people who have brought me to the place where I now linger. Like all humans I sometimes take my blessings for granted and even abuse the kindnesses that have been shown to me. I forget to be thankful and to simply enjoy the shade and the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves of the tree of life.

Trees keep me optimistic. They remind me that there is a continuity in this world that is bigger than our individual human efforts. We may falter and even become a bit full of ourselves but the ebb and flow of life remains essentially the same. We all benefit from being a bit more like trees. It is important that we “Stay grounded. Connect with our roots. Turn over new leaves. Bend before we break. Enjoy our unique natural beauty and keep growing.” (Joanne Chaptis) If we remember these simple rules we will surely find more of the contentment that we seek, especially in a world as seemingly mad as the one that we now face.

That tree in Rockport has seen more than we might ever imagine and still lives on. There is something rather nice about knowing that it is there and will be even when we are gone. Like the giant sequoias of Yosemite, the groves of Aspen in Rocky Mountain National Park and the countless shady lanes that soften the highways and byways across the land trees are the constant that we all wish to be in the world.

Happy Fall, Ya’ll

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

first-day-of-autumn-weather-for-all-love-season-3There is a chill inside my home this morning. The air is filled with the aroma of pumpkins and spices. Colors of red, orange, yellow and gold catch my eye wherever I look. It is the first day of autumn, my favorite time of year. But wait! The high today will be ninety two degrees here in Houston. The brisk temperature that I feel has been artificially produced by my trusty air conditioner. The lovely autumnal smell is only the product of a Yankee candle. I see fall colors thanks to the collection of artificial items that I place around my home at this time each season. Were it not for Hobby Lobby and Michael’s fall in Houston would look exactly the same as the middle of July. I have to conjure a great deal of imagination to realize that a change of seasons is actually taking place.

I just returned from a week long stay in the mountains near Rocky Mountain National Park. There I enjoyed the true splendor of autumn produced by Mother Nature at her finest. The landscape was awash with spectacular colors that seemed almost to have been painted on the leaves that fluttered enticingly in the wind. I wore my sweaters during the day and snuggled under a warm blanket at night, all without the aid of mechanical devices designed to keep my environment comfortable. The clean smell of pine overwhelmed my olfactory senses. The world around me seemed to be balanced and as perfect as it ought to be. The cycle of seasons was operating so perfectly that even the animals understood what time of year we were entering. It felt so right.

I love the fall but have had to manufacture it of late because I live in the south near the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. There are actually people who begin a yearly pilgrimage to my part of the country at about this time. They are fleeing the coming ravages of winter which will most surely visit their northern homes. They live like snowbirds who seek warmer climes in which to survive the harshness of the coming days. I see their trailers in the RV parks and their foreign license plates from places like Minnesota, Nebraska and Michigan. They flee from the very weather that I have never really seen and would so love to experience.

Each year as my fall birthday approaches in the middle of November I am just as likely to be wearing shorts and flip flops as one of my sweaters that never wears out. I only replace my winter gear when it becomes hopelessly out of style. I rarely use it enough to tarnish its sheen of newness. Unless I travel to one of the colder places it often seems like overkill to even take my coats from the closet where I store them all year long.

There used to be a sliver of fall and winter here in Houston. When I was a child I recall enjoying seventy degree days in October and as November rolled around we always lit the pilot light on our heater because we were bound to have some cold nights. I suggest that all climate change deniers spend some time where I live to realize that it appears to get warmer and warmer every single year, a fact that worries me intensely. Even my rabidly conservative but science-oriented brother admits that we are indeed experiencing a worldwide warming trend that is having a dramatic effect on our very existence. We humans are changing the rhythm and flow of nature and ultimately the results will be devastating if we don’t agree to take measures to slow the tide of a warming atmosphere that is artificially creating a climate that brings us more and more severe weather patterns and natural disasters. The data doesn’t lie no matter how much we humans choose to ignore the facts.

I just drove through the heart of what had been the dustbowl during the Great Depression of the twentieth century. The drought that overtook parts of Colorado, Oklahoma and Texas would certainly have caused many problems for the farmers who lived there but the situation became even more dire than it needed to be because they had interrupted nature. The people had plowed over the native grasses designed to anchor the soil to the earth. Without those simple little plants the winds carried the dirt high into the sky like great filthy clouds. There were continual storms of dust rather than rain that often made it impossible to see or even to breathe. The desperate people lost their incomes, their lands and sometimes even their lives. It was only when proper planting methods were eventually introduced that the area began to slowly come back to life. Sadly the ravages of that era are still apparent in some small towns where buildings on main streets are empty and populations continue to decline.

There are scientists among us who have studied such things. They understand the soil, the insects, the plants, and the weather. They are able to explain the symbiotic nature of our world. It is time that we listened to their warnings or the day may come when we humans no longer have the ability to create the comforts that we seek. We may simply have to endure the assaults from nature that will most surely come if we choose to ignore the warning signs that are all around us.

I love the natural flow of the life cycle. I enjoy being as one with the earth, a visitor no more important to the way of things than the tiniest bug. I don’t want my footprint to disturb the earth but I instinctively know that it does. I want to do my tiny little part to make my presence a bit less destructive. I suppose that if each of us were to begin just one form of conservation on a daily basis our collective efforts would begin to make a small dent in the problems that are making our earth sick. Instead of ridiculously asserting that climate change is a myth our politicians need to join together in crafting a global plan that will be as painless as possible to people everywhere. We must use our natural human abilities to find acceptable and forward thinking answers without destroying livelihoods. We have done it before and I have little doubt that we might do it again.

So on this first morning of autumn I intend to enjoy my favorite time of year with a bit of gardening if I can manage to endure the heat. At my age there is always an uncertainty that I will see another September 22 so I have to seize the day with all of the gusto that I am able to muster. With all of those fall wreaths showing up on the doors of my neighbor’s homes pumpkin cheesecake can’t be far behind and what is better than that? Happy Fall to those of us north of the equator and Happy Spring to everyone below. The world is still a wonderful place. Let’s keep it that way.

The Best Gift Ever

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Th050609-056.

There are moments in life that are forever etched in memory, so vivid that even thirty years later they evoke powerful emotions. I have many such recollections. Among them is an evening on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was late spring, a time when days grow warm and new life is sprouting here in my Houston home. My husband was attending a conference in Denver and he invited me to come along. The hotel room after all was already secured. I only needed to purchase a plane ticket, find someone to watch our daughters in our absence and take a couple of days off from work. It seemed an audaciously frivolous thing to do which made me reluctant. I not only had children who relied on me at home but also at the school where I worked. Additionally I was taking a class and it was nearing the end of the semester. Papers were due; tests were coming. Nonetheless some force inside my soul told me that the brief retreat might be fun.

While Mike was attending the seminars and functions associated with his work I stayed in my hotel room reading from my textbooks, writing essays and studying for an exam that was coming within days. The quiet atmosphere complete with room service was perfect for the work that I had to do. I seemed to accomplish five times as much as I would have at home but it still felt silly to have flown hundreds of miles just to hole up inside four walls. I had to wonder what I had been thinking when I agreed to Mike’s plan.

When Mike’s business day ended much earlier than he had anticipated he appeared in our room with a mischievous grin. He announced that we were going to take a drive to Estes Park to see the mountains up close. I quickly gathered my purse and put on my shoes and we were soon heading toward an adventure that would make my trip worthwhile. The mountains loomed ever larger in our view as we drove out of Denver and through Boulder. Soon we were on a highway cut through a national forest which was dotted with mountain streams and incredible vistas at each curve in the road. Before long we were navigating the streets of Estes Park with its quaint shops and restaurants on our quest to ride along Trail Ridge Road inside Rocky Mountain National Park. 

The ranger who greeted us at the entrance of the park told us that we were fortunate because the road had only recently opened but he urged us to be careful because it was growing dark and the weather report indicated that it would be foggy on our trail. We were not dissuaded by his warnings. The mountains beckoned us with a primal urge and we preceded with a growing excitement.

The path was easy at first. We drove along the side of a mountain sheltered by groves of trees that obscured the view. It grew unseasonably cold and we had come dressed for Houston, not the wintry temperatures that surrounded us, so we turned on the heater in our rented car. Here and there were gaps in the pines that showed us that we were indeed going higher and higher. The valley below receded and the air grew thinner. Before long we were driving above the tree line observing ancient glaciers on the tundra. Just as the ranger had predicted a wall of fog and clouds darkened our view. There were no signs of life, just a white blanket of snow and ice on the majestic peaks.

We spoke very little. Somehow chatter seemed to defame the glorious sight that lay all around us. We were alone in God’s country, viewing His majestic architecture, the cathedrals born from His hand. When we reached a point that overlooked the massive peaks through which we were traveling Mike parked the car and we exited so that we might stand in silence observing the breathtaking scene before us. The wind was howling, the temperature was freezing and neither of us had thought to bring coats but we cared little at that moment. Somehow we felt immune to the punishing weather. We were sharing a timeless vision. It felt as though we were the only human beings on the planet, an Adam and Eve discovering the world for the very first time. I wondered at that moment how many intrepid individuals had trekked into the mountains before there were roads or trails only to reach such a place and gaze into infinity just as we were doing. Did they feel close to God and to the core of their souls as I did?

Our faces had grown red from the harshness of the wind. Our fingers were becoming numb from the cold. Shivering we saw our own grins reflected in each other’s expressions. We needed no words to share what we were experiencing. We hesitated to leave but our more rational natures told us that it would soon be dark and a light snow was beginning to fall. We had seen something so spiritual that it would forever bind us with a love for Rocky Mountain National Park and each other. 

We would return to that spot many more times over the years. We would never tire of seeing the wonders of the mountains in different seasons. We would bring our daughters and they would become as spellbound as we were. We would travel to the park with my brothers and their families. We celebrated our fortieth anniversary in those very same mountains along with good friends. We came back with our grandchildren. The lure of Rocky Mountain National Park never seems to grow old and we plan to return once again in a few weeks.

A hundred years ago the idea of preserving our national wonders in a system of parks and monuments that might be shared by all Americans came to be. Today our National Park System cares for our nation’s treasures from north to south, the Atlantic to the Pacific. Over the years Mike and I have marveled at Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, Zion, Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, the Smokey Mountains, the Missions in San Antonio, Shilo, The Washington and Lincoln Memorials and so many others that it would take pages to list and describe them. We now have a senior pass that allows us to enter any of them without even paying a fee. It would be impossible to justly describe the joy that visiting these places has brought to us again and again.

Our national parks represent the best of our country and who we are as people. They belong to all of us. The idea of preserving them forever was inspired. It came at a time when the entire world was weary from a war that had ultimately seemed so useless. We had paid a heavy price for peace and little knew the horrors that still lay ahead. Our national parks would become havens for even the common man as we grappled with the uglier sides of humanity during the decades that followed.

Our nation’s problems seem to persist but we the people mostly agree the we got it right when we chose to protect our glorious heritage through the national parks. They are a gift to everyone of us and inside their borders we are reminded again and again of what really matters.

Happy Birthday to our National Park System! May the next hundred years be even more glorious.