Tundra Flowers

Tundra flowers seem to make the most of their environment. The growing season is so short, but the flowers make up for that in pure volume. Every square foot of tundra that is not rock seems to support some plant, and most of them bloom during the same 6 weeks. Alpine avens carpet large areas, but a closer look brings out the moss campion, alpine forget-me-nots, alpine primroses and a host of other miniature blooms. Yet every hike to the tundra highlights the variety of this abundance.

Coffee and watching

One of my favorite morning routines is sipping my coffee on the deck, watching a mother woodpecker feed her baby that is now as big as she is. This is the second summer that I have seen a juvenile peeping from the tree, while the mother flies back and forth to the feeder. She discards a dozen seeds before she finds the right one, then hurries back to the waiting babe. This goes on for almost an hour, as the juvenile is so big, it needs a lot of food. When does she finally teach him how to fend for himself?

Reflections

I've hiked to many lakes this summer, and I seem to have visited most of them on calm days. The reflections have been mirrorlike. An interesting idea. Does nature give us the time and the space to reflect on the rest of our life if we let it?

Moose on the loose

Moose have begun to travel to the eastern side of the Continental Divide in Colorado. First it was the lone bull; now there are families it many of the drainages. While a little skittish at first, they seem to have adapted to their new surroundings, hardly glancing up when a hiker passes by.

Iris

Memorial Day approaching means that irises must be blooming. I thought all my irises were white, but there, in the corner of the garden, a beautiful purple iris has bloomed. I love garden surprises.

Covered Bridge

I've always wanted to see a covered bridge. They instantly take you back in time where everything moved at a slower pace, where you might have to give way to someone coming from the other direction, or stop and chat as you navigate the span. You cannot whiz by at 70 miles per hour; they force you to stop and aknowledge their presence.

Muneca

Muneca is getting a little antsy. She's been perched on the mantle all winter, and has been seriously deprived of fresh air. She did get up to the high country last weekend, but she's just a little too awkward to be joining me on my long runs. I may have to find a way to carry her on my water belt. This morning, once I had crested the hill, it was 6 miles of downhill, and most of that beside a stream. Noisy, bubbling, laughing, the stream is filling up with the beginning of the runoff. Hammocks and hanging chairs have been placed out behind the houses, in anticipation of the warm and lazy afternoons to come. Penstamen bloom together in neat blue bunches near the roadside. Irises are opening their flags, and perfuming the air, mixing with the wild choke cherry. Who wants to join me for a run?