After-Market Musings
July 16, 2011

River high for July; but the flood subsiding.

M Trail in May
2011, May 2

1. New steps, sturdy 8x8s, grey gravel. Yellow forsythia seen in the parking lot below; ring of the bell in its tower. The updraft of wind. The eroded edge, a place to sit. A jumble of stone. Branches blocking the path and erosion. Green tufts of grass; last autumn's fruiting; biscuitroot. A black-white dog.

2. A moment's huff-and-puff. A three-leaf clover. Dark earth where soils seeps. A single yellowbell turning brown. Small white flowers, almost hidden. A smell, not of hill, but of town.

3. White peaks to the north; roar of traffic. Violet shooting stars.

4. How green the mountain, how devoid of flowers. A brown poodle. A short climb to

5. A bench. New moss; lichened stone; more yellowbells some yellow-green. A bush island; a path around it. one buttercup with 3 petals clinging; more flowers. An easy climb to

6. Rock outcrop. Brown-green growth of a copse of shrubs. One man in red going down the outer-edge; me climbing on the mountain's side.

7. From here, one notes the empty carpet of the stadium and the wasteland of parking lots. 12 steps up to

8. Fragrant grey-green leaves.

9. A sitting rock, smooth and weathered as if it belongs in water. Orange-grey lichen. Currant. A wire fence to

10. A longer rise to

11. Jutting south; short trek to

12. (six steps) A glance. the world at a slant.

13. ...and catching my breath. A path going south across the mountain. Tiny people below. Danny the dog making friends.

Then the scramble up the mountain along the M as vertigo struck. Crawling on all 4s. The walk across the mountain. Photos at sunset and the long quiet walk home.

Note: there are 13 switchbacks going up 600 feet.

2011 April 27
Yellow signs of Spring on the way to Mt. Jumbo

Yellow: dandelions, buttercups, yellowbells turning gold. The violet of shooting stars. The bathrooms are open along the river path! And the emerald green carpet is mown. The crow of Crow. The cranky Traffic. Forsythia full-bloom ...and yellow.

Poplars. Child by a dam. 2 dogs. And a bunch of travelers.

Past the burnt house on Vine where John lived last year. The huff-and-puff, the getting there. Robin's song from the brush.

A rock bouquet, midges, osprey, crushing the soft fresh tips of yarrow.

A copse of yellowbells, some now orange turning brown. Short green along the well-trod footpaths, wetter along the grass-shadowed edge of the furrow.

The rock path down. Not totally dry but springy.

Saddle of Mt. Jumbo and north
2011, April 24th

Edited from my journal, page 2653-54.

Tricia called and we drove up to the saddle of Mt. Jumbo and went for a walk. As one climbs up to the crest the path has buttercups in bloom and if one looks close there are yellowbells and shooting stars as well, but mostly one sees dry bent grass.

To the left: powerlines. To the right: a pond and a path up through the pines on the north slope of Jumbo (there are fewer on the eastern and western slopes and almost no pines on the south). From here Jumbo looks more like a gumdrop that a lumpy potato (as seen from town).

After the crest one looks down on the river and Milltown and as one walks more of the river, then the golf course comes into view and finally as one looks down and back, East Missoula. From here one can see the snows on the north slopes of Sentinel and University and white gleaming off mountains to the east and north. There are still snowfields on Jumbo, snow hidden in the pine and snow on the dirt road we took north.

Mostly, the road was dry. After speaking to a walker (a bit older than us, trim and fit) we took a short cut up to the ridge to walk back along it. I took pictures of moss and Tricia took close ups with her Panasonic ZS6. I was impressed by her photo of a buttercup.

The dry pines needles proved to be slippery, but the fragrance was wonderful. We ignored the elk/deer scat, but I collected some to bring home to dry. I want to know if it burns like moose poop, and what it might smell like.

We came down okay and found the path back. All in all it was a pleasant afternoon, 60s, sunny and good company.

Into the North Hills
2011, April 23rd

Edited from my journal, page 2652: "It's the 24th, but let me tell you about yesterday... it was sunny and I went for a walk inthe North Hills ...almost hit 50.

My notes: spiders, ants, balsamroot beginnings its bouquet of blooms, dry dirt. In Froehlich's copse: robins and fresh holes of small animals. On the slopes a dark-haired lady - young - 40s? (and chatting with her once more by the yellowbells on her way down). Biscuitroots, an attack puppy, split rock (grey lichen on orange), deer scat. In a gully: lamb's ears, animal trails crossing, a sheep pen. Coming up the powerline path to Mt. View Trail, turning right (south-east), pink phlox, resting by the peace stones, a small prop plane coming out of the canyon flying west.

Walk down Kim Williams Trail
2011, March 27

mud and bike tracks
lichen and moss
one man on a bike, one more
snow, wet sand
foam and logs from Milltown in the river
exposed stone
2 more youth on bikes
maroon mahonia turning green
dry sand in an open area of weathered grass and budless shrubs
blue sky now dulling to grey
breeze from the canyon
brown poplar leaves
a stick flying through the air
two people in black down by the water
the roar of traffic on the other side
yellow-green moss
more maroon-green mahonia
a vestige of snow in a trough
stonefly on a blade
"icebergs" hugging the shadows along the southern banks
the sharp drop-off
another fly on the bleached sorrow of yarrow
green sprigs of grass along the exposed path
buttercups in bud, almost in flower
dry ridge of sand
a couple of cones still clinging to pine
sage
blue berries of green-brown juniper
a sprawling mess of a human encampment
liverwort
heuchera
needles in the narrow path between trees
animal holes in the banks under shrubs
orange-brown rotting wood
orange peels
small branches tips littering the humus
a noise in the woods up ahead

climbing up to the railroad bed
covered with ice and snow
big paw prints
hole in the ice melted by a leaf
a black garbage bag
strewn macaroni
crack of hollow ice underfoot
long puddle standing in a groove
red chesapeake retriever
young master with blond hair and red beard

past the waterfall now smudged.

Walk up Mt. Jumbo on a 40 degree day
2011, March 23

Through Greenough Park:

One man, one woman drinking at a table eating ...no proof of an apple in sight.
One man, one woman throwing, catching ball.
2 men with dogs: a big one, a corgi.
Snirt along the trail ...and mud.
Sound of the Rattlesnake ...melt over rocks.
Sun in bare branches above.
Cloud puffs against a field of blue.
Wednesdaze ... 3rd day of "spring", the exuberance of Spring still quiescent.

Alleyways

Sunflower heads drooping, empty of seed,
A big black shaggy coat on a leash.
A picnic with a cat and a bottle.

Up from the Cherry Street trailhead

Dog tracks in slush.
Hushed traffic from the interstate.
The immediate complaint of heels as toes point upward.
Moss greening.
Feather of cirrus.
Shrub-shadows across a drying path.
Uncertain grip up the scree to get a picture of lichens.
Horn of the daily evening train.
6:16.
White above and between stands of pine.
Can glinting in the low-on-the-horizon sun.
Drifts in the draws, in the lee of shrubs, in the dimple of a road, in rock shadows.
My glove green on the not-yet green wear I dropped it.
Chill breeze.
Lengthening shadows.
Dog poo: yellow and brown, a certain lack of flies.
Shortness of breath, short steps climbing a short rise.

At the crossroads heading south

Sitting on a friendly rock.
Last years weakened stalks draped over stone.
The path heading south towards the canyon's edge
Turning northwest instead to take another path after talking with Alissa.

Down to the Elm Street trailhead.

Slippery slush and treacherous ice.
Walking in snow or mud instead.
Peent of a spotted towee in a bush.
Thing slip of green, all there is to be seen of yellowbells.
The lack of certain things.
Currant budding.
And more mud.
Saying goodbye at 7 pm.

On the way back

Woodpecker drumming on an alley powerpole.
(white and black - no red)
my purple pen falling next to two green knotted bags of dog poop.
Green over orange bark, the black crevices of a ponderosa pine.
Back Greenough Park:
one red glove pointing home.

Clark Fork of the Columbia
2010, June 16

I swear the raindrops were white and had wings. Past the flowering pine, the pink bush with reddish leaves, past fields of yellow mustard and pea-like plants, the purple venus-looking-glass, blue flax.

The flooding river roared, lapped against the wet brown sand, depositing flotsam in the riverine pools, white foam of waves.

Talking to Aunt Dot in Carolina about the humid heat of Carolina. She who walks with an umbrella to fend off sun speaks of the failure to find a cheap flight to Phoenix next December.

Dodging June's cold misty rain, I wonder whether they are white. Do they have wings?

Note: It snowed (a lot) June 11, 2008, so it's hard to banish the thought that it's not snow. Was it? I dunno.

Other images today: brown leaves nestled by the new-green leaves of maples; my notepad getting wet; the roar of traffic; three bicycles, two joggers swinging past, avoiding the mud; a bridge over the ditch (now a rushing stream); my bladder talking back at me, me holding it in.

An edited response to Dustin Mennie who wrote about the restoration of Greenough Park, Missoula, a place he played in as a child:

2010 April 14th walk up to the L.

Walked up to the L on Mt. Jumbo. Took my time. There were only a couple places where my vertigo kicked in and wanted to take flight. Took notes up and down. Saw a hawk… and the shooting stars are blooming. Said hello to all dogs and their human companions. Back in town met Lydia and petted Yoda, her grey tonkinese.

So many interactions to be had along the narrow path.

The breeze warm and inviting, blowing towards the mountain in an updraft caught by a red-tailed hawk hunting above us. We’re too big to be prey.

I chat with a man in long johns (I know ’cause he told me). We mention how hard it is to know what to wear in the spring. His beard is full and red except for a couple stray grey hairs. The red turns grey fast I advise him. He’s 26. I see him on the way up and further up as he wends his way down.

On the L, I say hello to Miles. He stays close to his human friends. He’s small but willing to jump up onto the concrete ledge that forms the base of the L (restored in 2001 I read on the plaque, in memory of Jon Hamper. The L is a symbol of Loyola Sacred Heart)

Most of the path is dry brown dirt, not as stony as the M trail. I could never have climbed that in these street shoes. S’okay, I wore the wrong shoes.

Where there is a cleft in the hillside filled with shrubs budding out, the path has been redone, rocks moved and underlying soil exposed; it is yellow.

Above the perched meadow the shooting stars are in bloom, their pink-violet flowers just come out. The yellowbells are in full bloom, the last greenish-yellow buds contrasting with the yellow, the gold, the golden-orange of nearly spent blooms. The lupine is ready… it’s blue-purple buds full and expectant for more warmth and sun.

As I come down to Poplar Street, I see Miles perched on his mistress’ stomach, worn-out, content.

Each day is a blessing of one hello and one goodbye.