Making a Home in La Flowery Land

To everyone who has been checking here, again and again, only to find no news: my apologies and thank you for your patience.  For all of our friends, family, and well-wishers, I am hereby reviving this blog.

I had music professors in college who called me "The Wanderer", a less than complimentary nod to persistent tardiness and dissipative focus (and a reference to a Franz Schubert piece).  Now I feel proud to wear that badge, stitched to the center of my chest for all to see.  Looking back over nearly three years of posts, reflecting on all the cultures, the landscapes and the people we encountered, I am a lucky man to have learned so much so quickly.  Keep it coming.  There's more planet to see.

As for my silence this fall...  Danielle and I are forever optimists, not realists.  A change of career, a change of scene, some income stability to open a new chapter in our lives -- it sounded good!  In typical fashion, we underestimated everything about the transition: the epic cross-country drive, the not insignificant culture shock, the humidity, the loneliness of working and living apart the first few months, the demands of new workplaces, the difficulty finding reasonable housing, and on and on. Add to that Koa being badly wounded by an aggressive dog, and you'd forgive us for feeling unwelcome.

But all things ebb and flow, and on this balmy Christmas Eve I am happy to report, finally, that we are alive and well.  And I dig the new job.  I enjoy the students and have been busy crafting a number of ways to get them outside -- outside, literally, and way outside their work-a-day experiences.  I am also happy to return to this blog, for it has always been an exercise in gratitude.  Gratitude for this very unlikely life, for nature's terrifying diversity and dazzling splendor.  I seldom write, for the public, unless my heart is brimming with stories and affection.  Today I am feeling more muted, as this is normally a day for extended family, but I'm keen to see what awaits us in 2015.

It's that curiosity that continues to drive me and Danielle.  There are standup paddleboards in place of a couch in our new apartment, and Christmas Day will find us camping somewhere remote and unusual.  So, you can trust us to continue to amuse and surprise.  And I hope that your curiosity leads you to keep checking in, to stay in touch.

Micah

Enjoying the Gulf shore.

Exploring the water-logged mangroves.

Encountering the denizens of Florida's pine flatwoods and hardwood hammocks.

Harvesting the sun's bounty.  A warm retirement for Koa, and handfuls of oranges.

A subtropical Christmas; the tide's delicate ornaments.

  Happy New Year everyone!

The Air Up There

In light of our imminent departure for the flattest state in the Union, Danielle and I made our "60 Day Challenge" -- a pledge to play outside every day.  We have lingered in Colorado just long enough to get up to the highest elevations, and we've faithfully logged each day's adventure on our wall calendar. Just when fatigue is nipping at our heels, we remember the tundra bursting in blooms, or the staggering views from the surrounding peaks, and we head out again.  This month we also spent some time in the Crested Butte area (pictured above) and we both took downhill mountain biking lessons.  Danielle was a sight to see, suited up in armor and ripping confidently through the curves.  Safe to say it was the most fun we've ever had.

An evening hike near Gold Mountain, Ouray.

Relishing the diverse wildflowers, clean air and idyllic views at Blue Lakes (San Juan Mountains).

Backpacking in the seldom visited West Elks Range.  Tim mended his pack with rope and soldiered on, while loyal Koa was the liquor porter.  Even now, the morning light in the flower-strewn meadows and aspen groves lingers in my mind's eye.  

Cousin Ron and his son Ben, Aunt Irene and I took a long 4x4 journey over Baxter Pass, passing into a remote corner of Utah.  The Uintah Railway, the steepest and most ingenious narrow gauge railway of its day, used to snake its way up and over these cliffs, delivering my grandparents to and from the gilsonite mines.  We found the remains of the towns and the mines -- Dragon, Rainbow, Watson -- and used our photos and maps to pinpoint their stories.  Where they met, where they fell in love, where the lived together as a young married couple. Cement foundations, broken glass, buttons, bed springs, and an old stove constituted the meager remains.  But in simple act of standing there, sharing their view, my late grandparents came into sharper relief -- more real, more close.  Being in Colorado has helped me understand my place.  My place in a long continuum of love, birth, death and story.  In a word, home.

A new chapter is about to begin, but Danielle and I have any number of schemes to reside in Colorado part-time.  In her words, "it fits like a favorite t-shirt".  We'll be back.

Florida?!

Yes, that's right.  Our next destination is Naples, Florida.  This August I will take a position as Professor of Biology at Florida Southwestern State College, teaching marine and environmental sciences.  Though it's not somewhere we pictured ourselves, it's the perfect gig for me and we are excited to try new things... rowing, kayak camping, fishing, and sailing, to name a few.  Danielle can arrange her work seasonally to match my academic calendar, so we will be able to spend summers traveling and going up in elevation.  And before you dismiss it, this is not the Florida that springs to mind - theme parks in Orlando or over-developed sprawl in Fort Lauderdale.  We will be on the comparatively mellow Gulf Coast, with Everglades National Park out our back door. My friend Jeff joked that we are the "hashtag y.o.l.o." couple.  It was some moments before I deciphered this twitter-speak.  Trite and overused, sure, but yes, we may only live once.  So why not!  A few photos from my interview trip...

Lovely coastal scenes (Naples, FL).

Bonus!  Year-round farmer's markets.

Spring in Mo-town

Montrose, Colorado quickly won our hearts.  It's small and walkable, the people are invariably friendly, and it's so close to a huge variety of outdoor playgrounds... the Rockies, Grand Mesa, and the canyons of Grand Junction and Moab.  It's also the kind of place, still rural, that you'll see horses tied up outside a church or the Taco Bell.  With the rising temperatures, we've traded in our skis for mountain bikes.  Danielle is getting pretty serious, taking women's trail and downhill clinics.  Whenever we're not pedaling, you'll find us spending our evenings at Black Canyon National Park, hiking, bouldering, or watching the light turn the stupendous canyon walls amber and orange with the approaching sunset.

It has been a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime gift, to spend so much time with my Mom's sister, Aunt Irene.  She has graciously educated me on my family tree, advised me in repairing old family scrapbooks, and steered me towards important places in our history.  This included a trip out to the eastern Plains -- nearly Kansas -- to visit the site of my Great-grandfather's failed homestead, and we will soon be taking a trip up to the remote gilsonite mines where my grandparents worked, met and married.  This homecoming has reconnected me to my people here, and the generations before us who tread the same piece of earth.

As spring arrives, the wish-list on our fridge -- places to explore -- grows longer.

 Scrambling in the multi-hued canyons of Gunnison National Recreation Area.

A walk and picnic in the family apple orchards (Rogers Mesa, CO).

With Irene, checking out the restoration of rail cars 

my grandparents rode to the Baxter Pass mines. 

The very site... my grandmother's home on the plains (Eads, CO).  

Though my Great-grandfather's dream was cut short when all the cattle froze, 

I'm grateful the family migrated to milder pastures on the western side of the state.  

 Nearby, a more recent family tragedy.  They simply walked away, 

leaving the ranch to the tumbleweeds.   

Odd and terrifying encounters in the eastern grasslands: 

the longest series of dinosaur tracks in the world, 

and a close call with a cryptic rattle snake.  

Mountain biking: first the canyons of Montrose, Fruita and Moab, 

and now that the snows are receding, the high meadows and aspen woods 

of the Uncompahgre Plateau and the Rockies.  

Danielle's father, JD, joined us from California for some great pedaling.  

Our favorite:  the majesty of the Black Canyon.