Years ago I was driving my 80 year old Granny to her happy place, the hardware store (some relatives might think her happy place was the landscape store, which she did adore, but not as much as she adored the men in the hardware store—FA you know I am right) when she said, “I love painting because it makes me notice the clouds.” I thought of her today.
I am sitting in one of my favorite Beagle stops, Mono Vista RV
Park in Lee Vining, California as I write this post. For the past ten months, I took out Beagle just
once; and that was only so I had a place to sleep while Wurzig was at Porsche
of Santa Barbara. For the most part I
have been content to spend my time remodeling Kismit, learning ballroom
dancing, furthering my tennis game and taking up the piano.
Wow, did I forget what Beagle brings to me.
(By the way, did you
miss me?)
I forgot the joy of setting out with only what you absolutely
need (“need” being the operative word—Cheese Itz and gin jump to mind) with no
real agenda just the open road and the thought of spending time with
Nature. I forgot the peace of mind that
comes to me when, tired after a day of hiking, hot shower completed and dogs
fed, I close Beagle’s door and cocoon myself.
I forgot how much I love being alone.
Truly alone, not in between lessons or appointments or, most recently,
Hospice Training, but alone with hours stretching ahead of me, waiting for me
to settle into them, waiting for me to stop orchestrating, to let Life come and say, “This
way, Kit.”
And I haven’t even had any gin yet.
So here I am, Owen’s Valley, eastern Sierra Nevadas,
again. One of my happy places on this
wonderful, gorgeous planet.
This morning I set out to hike behind Saddleback Lake
as I have done twice before. Driving up
to the trailhead I passed the Lake Gardisky Trailhead, pulled in and checked
out the map. It was a short hike but rated
“very difficult” as it went up the side of a mountain to a lake. I pondered.
Go with the experience you know will be heavenly, or try something
new? What if it isn’t as gorgeous? On the other hand, what if it is more gorgeous? Plus the shorter hike would be better for
River who is still recovering from her unexplained rear leg paralysis. It also started at 10,000’ and went straight
up for a mile and, given the fact that I just spent ten months at sea-level,
figured the shorter hike would be better for me as well.
We parked. We started
off.
Much to Opus’ dismay, River was almost immediately released
from her leash. We climbed and climbed with Opus shooting
looks of disgust over his shoulder to which I replied, “Remember last Saturday
night? 3 AM? Police?”
He could care less about last Saturday night; he lives in the
moment. And this one was pissing him
off.
The climb was indeed very difficult, the altitude combined
with my head cold made it very slow going as my lungs felt like lead. But what a payoff! We reached the top of the mountain and looked
across a grassy meadow to a shimmering blue lake. We were completely alone. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun was doing
its gentle Autumn shine but the wind was fierce. The gusts nearly blew us over and it was
sharply cold. I was happy that I
remembered all my “do not ever hike without” items; gloves and a warm hat were
immediately adorned.
The picture above was our lunch stop; it is a small section
of the much larger lake but the spot afforded a break from the wind. (More pictures have been added to the HMS Beagle Photo Album.)
Opus’ need to run free was weighing heavily on my mind. Just so you understand my reticence, here’s a
brief overview of last Saturday night:
After a
lovely evening at the San Luis Obispo Symphony’s Opening Night, still dressed
in my navy-blue satin, asymmetrical dress, saying goodnight to my perfect
companion (Oh! We can name him! I know you all love that. Let’s go with PC.) when PC held the door open half a second too long and
Opus raced out. Eleven PM.
I sighed,
encouraged PC to just go on home as it would be hours before Opus came
back. I changed into sweats, exchanged
my Prada cocktail shoes for hiking boots and awaited my opportunity. Many of you know Opus; settle in. At midnight I heard him barking from afar, I
got up and walked around the neighborhood to no avail. The barking stopped. At 1:00 AM, he started again. I went out again, this time I could see him, or more precisely, his tail, as his head was in a hole on the other side of a gully. He would not come, he set about crying and
whining; his behavior when he is about to kill a wild animal. The police arrived around 1:45.
The three
of us clamor down the 20’ drop into the gully (thankful that no water is flowing.) We get close, we hear the animal growling
from within his den. The den is mid-way
up the other side of the gully, surrounded by nettle bushes and loose
rock. The male officer attempts to climb,
slides back down, Opus takes off. We stupidly
give chase.
The
female officer is about twenty yards ahead of me as we run up the gully, the
footing is loose rock, each roughly the size of a gallon of milk; not quite enough
to balance on. I am the only one without
a flashlight so am trying to keep the female officer in my sites. I can see her general path but have to move
much slower due to the footing. Apparently
she side-stepped a drop-off. Apparently I
did not. I dropped straight down about
three feet, scraping my shin along the rocks and landed, on my ass, in a
sticker bush.
Eventually
(like an hour later) Opus led us back to the original den. I told him to “wait”, and damned if he didn’t
just sit right down and look at us all.
The officers looked at me like, “Why didn’t you do that an hour ago?” The male officer sarcastically says, "Can you try "come"?" We all laugh, we have tried "come" for an hour; they know it doesn't work. The male officer starts up the wall of the gully
to grab Opus. Unfortunately, he is utilizing the branches of the tree under which Opus is sitting to haul
himself up. A branch bends down and hits
Opus’ head. He dashes. But even Opus was tired now; in a few minutes he calmly walked
back and stood next to the den as the officer, now safely up the bank, grabbed
his scrawny little neck and held him aloft as they both slid down the side.
Hence my hesitation to let him off leash today. But given the fact that the lake was almost
devoid of trees (I could keep my eye on him) and set among mountain peaks (he
is in good shape but unlikely to scale the sides), I got to where Opus knew I
would, took a deep breath and let him off leash. (The patience of that dog!) He did two good returns for a treat, allowing
me to leash him up again each time.
But not the third time.
He had found a den of some small meadow squirrel. When I got close, he would run away. Treats didn’t work. Someone told me once that the only way to
catch a terrier is to run away from them.
So River and I ran away. About
100 yards. Every five minutes or so Opus
would lift his head, sniff the air, locate us on the horizon and go back to
digging. Until the time he didn’t.
He lifted his head, spotted us and raced toward us as if
he hadn’t seen us for years. This is
when I thought of Granny noticing the clouds, time slowed down and I noticed how
Opus’ right front paw would always reach higher than his head as he engaged his
joyful sprint, his eyes flashing like only eyes that are living their life’s
purpose can. He was the epitome of
joy. I tried not to think about how he
was likely to carry this joy right on by me.
But he didn’t run by, instead he stopped in front of me and
sat down. I bent down and gave him a good
rubbing told him what a good dog he was, a bite of jerky and a leash.
Here’s to living your life’s purpose. I find my purpose hasn’t changed since I was twenty-five and wrote a mission statement for my life, “To utilize the human experience
to further my spiritual growth.” Being
human brings me great joy (and deep sorrow but you cannot have one without the
other) and experiencing life on earth is my daily goal.
-K
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