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 |  Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
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NURTURE your NATURE  Nature can nurture our writing, can nurture our soul. What is the language of Nature? And how do we learn it? We look at the natural wonders around us and do not see them, hear, taste nor smell them. They do not touch us anymore than we dare touch them. And then we wonder why we feel so dead. To breathe in and live like a child again opens the Land of Wonderment. It's still there after all these years.   |
| 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: I come back your note "An Ecological Immersion" after having walked where you planted. I felt I had entered a war zone. And it is in a way. So many non-native maples cut into logs So bare in the spring. Hopefully the ground vegetation adjusts to the sun and the heat this summer. It will not return to being cool for a decade. If they really want native, maybe they should tear out the lawn on the west side of the bridge... not likely to happen. When I need deep shade and a sense of the NW woods I'll take a walk down the Kim Williams path in the shadow of Sentinel where along the Clark Fork, abandoned and not-yet-harassed, the fir and mahonia flourish in the moist fragrant shade. When I went there it was no longer a shady moist place. True humans had put down paths everywhere, but at least the 50 foot plus maples provided shade. Alders and cottonwoods will be encouraged and most assuredly flourish, but it will take years if not decades. Each human action has loss and gains. Not sure about this one will play out. Greenough Park is in a cityscape and a "native" arid landscape is not compatible to abusive humans. Scars on the land here last decades if not centuries. The new developments of ranchettes on the hills are considered progress. But they disrupt and turn beauty into something garish and ugly. So Greenough Park: ponderosa pine, the flutter of alder and poplar leaves, the sweep of birds up and down the highway of the streams and river, the gurgle of water over stone. Logs and brush everywhere looking like an uncleared logging camp; spring growth crushed. The open scar of it all. |
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. |
| Short walk to the California Bridge and then to downtown: Three dandelions cruched against the ground (about 1 inch high).  Soft touch of new sprouts... alder, poplar? A young couple identifying a box elder by leaf and samara. Osprey perched on the night-lights of the baseball field.  A Canadian goose browsing in the outfield. The courtship of a reddish bird; his pale intended mate. Sound of the rapids of the Clark Fork River. The wheeze of a brown dog loping by. Green squeezing out existence between the stones. Graffiti covering graffiti and the artwork at the California Street Bridge. A youth jumping up and down. The sway of the bridge. Three ducks in the water... mergansers? Yellow willow. A man in an electric wheelchair on the northside. Bikers discussing how long they had been out and about. A painting drawn on the knot of a tree.  An old gnarled tree; it's upper branches cut off. White/yellow daffodils. Traffic stopping, allowing me to cross busy Orange Street. The line outside Sushi Hana. Deciding a coffee was overdue instead. Missoula, Montana, 2010, April 7. 182 |
| Notes taken on April 1, 2010 and written as a letter to a friend. Dear Gare, It’s the first day of Fools and I won’t admonish you; although, where you are, there’s sunshine, there’s warmth and every reason not to sit in your office or at class. No need to pout when the sun is shining. A memory of your smile reminds me of that. As for me… I’m strolling the park, climbing a mountain. It’s cold, windy, and threatening to snow. I suppose it’s good to run up and down a mountain. I saunter. One slow step placed in front of the other. I always get to the end of my path; but, no further. Unlike the white butterfly that passes me, I have no wings. I move so slow that a fly lands on me. I don’t run like the youth in blue shorts doing repeats. The same distance up, the same distance down, up and down.  A man with a big dog, a lady with a pug chug up the path as I pause. I take a moment to peer at yellowbells and take a picture of fossilized ripples beneath a rock. I’d point these out to you if you were here.  One thing’s for sure: one doesn’t get lost here. Up-the-mountain, down-the mountain are the two main directions. Or: there’s the L; there’s the M; there’s Lolo Peak or the peak once named Old Squaw. Today this slow walk must suffice. I’ve seen yellowbells and sun crossing the mountains, I’ve seen a blue-boy running. I descend as a big brown dog picks up a huge stick, loping past me on the way down. I’d advise all my friends, dear friend: Take a thousand pictures of what once was known and now forgot, or never-known and now will be remembered. Record the passing of pine, people, rocks. Sketch their presence; etching yours with words you share.  Each day note the majesty of sky-mountain clouds, life’s fragile fronds. Go every day, every season. Record it for the Ages. In a hundred years or two, perhaps even the mountain will notice you and remember your name.  As I remember yours. Forever your friend, Kåre © Kåre Enga 2010-04-01 [167.17] 177 |
| North Hills to the power lines, across to the trail going north, south past the Hs, pass the radio tower, wending south: Climbing slowly two joggers pass, their pale flesh blooming pink, a gift of a northern winter and Springtime's sun and wind. No rain upon the plains, yet the beige-grey dust is slowly greening. And lo! A rufous flying insect. A caterpillar tumbling. I stoop to take a picture of the yellowbells.  I notice the shy biscuit root; the buds of balsam root; the fingers of lupines groping. Pink rock (granite?) lies covered with grey-green lichen. I pick furry sea-green yarrow; crushed, I inhale it’s minty breath. Animal tracks and animal droppings: fresh brown balls and white-grey clumps. Bitterroot leaves cluster, waiting; anemone too. Small white-pink flowers nodding almost go unnoticed, except by me. The wind. The greening hills as seen from above.  The long walk facing the southern breeze, braving the wind to look at phlox.  On a windy day: so few dogs, so few people, and the downward slope of the path. Missoula, Montana. 2010, March 28. |
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