There have been many a good thing in our lives these days, many a good encounter, many a good person, many a good event, many a good gift, other than not making much money. We are blessed and fortunate. It is a rich and full season, and I recognize it as such; not all of them are, or at least they don’t all feel that way. I’ve had some extra time for reflection and quietness the last couple of days, as I’m to lay low and let heal a very inflamed pelvic ligament, probably the result of too much wedding dancing. Thus, extra time for blogging. What follows is a variety of thoughts and pics from the last few weeks, starting of course with Rachel and Cam’s wedding that took place Saturday.

the big wedding!

Aaaaand, it’s over! After months and months of preparation on the part of many people, most pointedly the bride herself, Rachel’s marriage has taken place to Cameron Peyton Clear, whom we love. They happen to both highly value friendships and keep them alive and vibrant over years’ time, as was evident by their wedding party of twenty people. Friends and family from childhood, school, church, work, and skiing came from everywhere (including folks fresh in from Brazil, east Asia, and Africa) to take part in not only the big day itself, but events before and afterwards. People rode horses, visited the Park, swam in the lakes, barbequed, and sort of had one big vacation together. It was a beautiful show of support and community to get a couple started on their journey.

One cool / hilarious part was that Cameron wanted to be baptized while he was here, thinking it would be him, Rachel, and my dad present. It turned into a 14-car caravan to Glacier Park, each vehicle stuffed to the gills with people so we’d have to pay less entrance fees. We didn’t have a specific destination, but knew we wanted to be somewhere on the shore of Lake McDonald, which is about 10 miles long. We had to find a spot with enough pullout space to accommodate everyone and to coordinate it via cell phones and handheld radios.

I couldn’t take shots of the ceremony itself since I was a bridesmaid, but how’s about I tell you instead? The wedding party lined up five men and five women on each side, the women wearing black dresses of their choosing and holding simple lily bouquets in oranges and pinks. Rachel looked precisely like a princess, albeit more chic. Our dad pastors a Church of God congregation here, and Cameron’s dad pastors a Unitarian congregation in Indiana, so they co-officiated the ceremony. Cam and Rach said traditional vows and then personal ones. As Jason said later, Cam’s vows made the other guys look like kindergartners. They were so sincere and well thought out. Our favorite line was that he would always check out the bumps in the night for Rachel. For her portion of the personal vows, she sang “Answer” by Sarah McLachlan. Then Jason and I sang a Bonnie Prince Billy song while they took communion that says, “I called you back to a place beside me,” sort of a double meaning song, for human-human love and God-human love. My brothers and cousins backed us up on instruments. And whooo boy, the dance floor was hot! We even got my parents out there cutting a rug.

Here are some shots from Holly.

and a few other shots...

Erin's under there straightening something out.

four siblings and three spouses

Me and Jace and the bump

mamas and babies

mama doe and baby fawn

mama orange and baby kumquat

mama plum and baby grapes
mama me and baby ?

horsies

My Pops raises and trains horses to sell or use, specializing in Tennessee Walkers. When we arrived in late spring, there weren't any unbroken colts to work with, but as seems to happen around here, some showed up. A family that bought four Walkers from Dad a few years back (two mares with a colt each) found they weren't riding much and wanted the horses to be back in good care.

So, long story short, Jason has had a chance to break a couple of three year old horses! He has loved working with Harley, seen in the shots below, and he’s just starting in with Dusty Brown, a very shy and small one.

Dad uses the Horse Whisperer and Natural Horsemanship-type training, in which you work gently and in a relaxed state with the horses, teaching them to respond to light and subtle commands. He doesn’t use bits or spurs, and yet these are some of the most responsive horses you’ll ever run across. Also, because he imprints them when they’re young, by touching and petting them a lot, they are personable and almost dog-like in their desire to get close and cuddly with you. Anybody want to buy a Tennessee Walking horse? Awesome. See his website at www.lllwalkers.com. A shameless plug for me old man.

Here’s Dad riding in the July 4th parade in support of a friend of his who’s running for State House position.

our workout video

Bajillions of little home-improvement projects hearken to our family as the wedding day approaches. Company is slated to start arriving this week. Friday was carpet cleaning day, so we cleared the furniture from out of the living room, and when the carpet finally dried yesterday, it was time to move it all back. But Jason and David were in less of a furniture moving mood and in more of a lets-make-use-of-this-wide-open-space mood. The following improv video is the result.

Hardcore aerobic in home workout

the funeral of Michael MacDonald

In Flagstaff recently, there was a mid-air collision between two medical helicopters near the hospital that resulted in 6 deaths. The patient aboard one helicopter was a firefighter on loan in the Grand Canyon with his crew, the Chief Mountain Hot Shots, from Browning, Montana.

This is a newspaper article about the crash that focuses on him. http://www.greatfallstribune.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080701/NEWS01/807010301/1002/news01.


We drove to Browning on Saturday to attend Michael's funeral, feeling a special pull there because of Jason's work in fire and the Park's relationship with this particular Hot Shot crew, an interest in and respect for native traditions, our experiences in Flagstaff last year, especially, as it turns out, hiking the hills where the crash ocurred, and the people we've met from Browning. The service drew in the whole town; this crew is one of the their great prides, and many see the Hot Shot role as a continuation of the young warrior tradition. We joined the long line to view Michael's body and the various effects people had placed in his coffin, and to then kiss the cheeks of his mother and girlfriend. Jason told the family it was an honor for us to be there and that we were very sorry for their loss. I cried and cried and could barely speak.

Unfortunately, the catholic priest, who had the most air time, focused on the heroics of firefighters and military personnel who selflessly sacrifice for our nation, and he strongly emphasized the glories of our government. It seemed odd coming from a white guy to a nearly all-native crowd. If an Indian wanted to say the same stuff, fine, but it truly felt like we had time traveled to 150 years ago, and a government representative in religious clothing was trying to convince everyone that white people's decisions around here are good and justified, though this concept wasn't related to Michael much at all. But otherwise the elements of the service were beautiful, including the Hot Shot crew lining up to pass his helmet, backpack, and boots from one end of the gym to the other, each one holding them for a bit to say goodbye, and Scripture readings by the family. But oh! The wailing when the time came to close the casket. I don't know if I will ever forget the sound, or that of the Indians all through the gym who spontaneously erupted into war cries after "Song for a Warrior" was sang by a group of young drummers.

This is a poem I wrote in the days afterwards.

circles

relentless sun above the Canyon's rims
beads of sweat from under your white helmet,
to be passed from comrade to comrade in a few days' time
thick body of a bee, black and yellow
drips of poison on a needle's point
rotaries, giving flight to the bird
that has come to carry you home

faces of mother, step-father, aunts, friends, strangers gathered
tears fallen onto your round cheeks

basketball
medals of honor
dream catchers
your quilt, white, with a colorful star
all added to your casket before the closing

finality
no escape

thick pink lips come toward yours, thin, off-colored
drums beat, beat, beat to Song for a Warrior
that ends in Blackfeet cries throughout the gym
cries of battles and pains, old and new

CeCe's belly, ripe with your child
life
death
new life

Rachel's bachelorette weekend!

Here are some pictures from Rachel's bachelorette weekend two weeks ago in Pacific City, Oregon. 10 of us were able to be there, and we had a hoot. I am super happy my wittle sis has such a great group of gals around her for support, silliness, sunburn lines we have to work very hard to undo before the wedding, and Sex and the City. Alliteration, see. They're all about it. There was also, as you can imagine, yummy food, wine, charades, and smut magazines to catch up on.

Stacy B. took this shot of my 17-week belly. It seems that when you're among ten women, only one of whom has a child, your pregnancy becomes a topic of some interest. Can't say I minded too much all of the attention...

On our one crazy evening out, Erin had Rachel wear a t-shirt on which various strangers could write their advice for the bride. She got some doozies; drunk men don't have a lot of creativity. But here's the first couple to sign her shirt. Oddly enough, their anniversary is July 19th, Rachel and Cam's wedding date, and they've been married for 33 years. So that was pretty cool.

growing things

Here are pictures of us starting our garden several weeks back. Look at us, so full of hope for new things to grow, things we could eat and be nourished by.

Shortly thereafter, we were further inspired by our friends in Portland, Jeff and Kezia, and Steve and Darla, when we had short visits with each and toured both couples’ lovely gardens. Here. I’ll include a few pics of those visits. Here's Jeff and Kez with her sister Naomi:

Darla

a nice shot taken by Steve of us with them

Well, this weekend we had to call it quits on our garden. As full as we were of hope - that's as full as the soil on my parents’ property is of clay. This, despite the addition of wheelbarrows full of aged horse manure. Our test starter tomatoes and squash are now wilted to smithereens. We could buy soil, but we’d have to start completely over, digging out the clay, and we just don’t have time. Plus, how much do we want to invest in setting up a garden spot here when we’ll be (hopefully) living in our own place next growing season? So, with much sadness, we laid down our shovels and hoes. “Oh well,” I kept thinking, “At least I’ve got our little pot of herbs back in the Park.” I have been tending to that little pot of parsley and basil set just outside our door in the sun, watching like a hawk to see if the myriad of ground squirrels would take interest in it. They never did. They never cared. Until I was gone all day yesterday having my monthly pregnancy checkup. I came home to a simple, very feng shui, pot of dirt. A stripped stalk lay flat on top, its roots pulled up in a clump. I cannot believe it. Now the only thing left that we’re growing is a baby. And if clay or ground squirrels even look at me wrong, believe you me, I will bust out the jujitsu.

Speaking of baby, though he or she isn’t very holdable or very knowable yet, it’s fun to watch Jason already figuring out what roles he can and cannot play in supporting us. We are salsa people. Salsa that you eat with chips; not so much dancing. Although this pregnancy bit is certainly promoting the shapeliness for salsa dancing. Anyway, the other night we got some new fresh salsa, and when we got it home remembered the big tomato/salmonella scare. Jason volunteered to eat it first, and if he didn’t get sick, I could eat it the next day. There are quite a few microbe-laden foods that pregnant people are to avoid, so this was logical, but it’s harder for me to be inspired by the potential presence of invisible beings than for Jason, who has spent many hours observing them under microscopes. I pouted and ate canned salsa instead.

Well, it happens that Jason is reading The Birth Partner, given to us by Darla, and a few minutes after the salsa incident, perhaps as consolation or an attempt to redirect my attentions, he asked if I wanted to practice squats in preparation for birth. I agreed to. After about three squats, he suddenly dropped my hands and stepped back. “Gawd! Are your knees crinkling?!” He stood there frozen, hands trapped in the middle of the air by disbelief, me in a low squat. I said, “Um, yeeeaaaahhh…” He was referring to the sound a lot of knees make when they’re unfolding. He began backing up, wincing and contorting his body, muttering something about us getting old. I said, “Oh Honey, relax! My knees have been doing this since high school. It can’t be an age thing. Maybe overuse or misuse when I was young…[I was talking louder now, since he had left the room] So, I take it we're not doing squats anymore?” “Right,” he said from the kitchen, dishing up more fresh salsa.

Moral of the story: it’s evidently sometimes easier to risk your life to microbes than listen to knees crinkle.

Another growing thing that isn’t dependent on us, thankfully, is bear grass. Here’s some near our house. It looks like a big light bulb sitting atop a thick stalk. Bear grass is the official flower of the Park and is in full bloom now, and boy is it stunning to come around a corner and see a whole field of it. It’s so stark against the dark greens, blacks, and blues of the forest and sky. And you feel like you’re discovering a little miracle when you see an individual stalk tucked into a corner of the woods.

ze' Park: first two weeks in photos

The laptop dilemma got solved. Yippee-ai-oh. Onward with documentation! I guess I haven't explained our current situation very well yet: we're renting a little efficiency apartment in the employee housing complex of Glacier National Park, where Jason is working for the summer as a fire ecologist. Glacier is about 40 minutes from my hometown of Whitefish, so we go home on the weekends to spend time with family and do in-town chores. Jason currently works ten hours a day, four days a week. I currently work zero hours at a real job but many hours doing sewing/photo/reading/baby-preparation projects, keeping house, making meals, laundering clothes, and generally learning how to be a domestic goddess. Here is Baggie-Washing Day (and one pair of fire pants that needed hemming).

Each morning, Jason gets up around 6 and makes stovetop espresso and steel-cut oats for his breakfast. I get up soon thereafter and make a sack lunch, then quickly find my pillow again. I'll soon be organized enough to make sack lunches the night before. Jason rides his bike three minutes to work, as the sun is just peeking over the Belton Hills by our place. Some days he then drives and hikes out to remote lookout towers or weather stations to fix equipment; some days he is getting refresher training on things like helicopter long-line hookups. Once was an all-day bear training that I snuck into with him by throwing around a few names and some Parkie lingo. That's not true; all I did was walk in, and no one cared. Still, I'm sure it was sneaky and dangerous, an experience that a housewife needs every now and again. Ha ha ha. I say that after two weeks. Anyhow, that was a super informative training and got me in the mood for some bear encounters! With my pepper spray quite handy, of course. And camera.

All of this until fire season starts, at which point Jason'll be involved in trying to squelch little fires that occur by lightening strikes. Meanwhile, In the evenings after dinner, we hike or bike in the Park. Here are some photos of neat scenes and items we've run across during those excursions.

textbook example of deer hair caught on a stick

just after a snow storm

the same scene at Lake McDonald several days later

Does cloud imitate tree, or does tree imitate cloud?

finally, our little Stoffer kidlet, starting to be obviously present