74. National Public Radio

I have to say I really enjoy listening to the radio and have ever since I was a small child. The idea of someone’s voice just flowing directly to me from thousands of miles away as if by magic through some little speaker directly has never lost its ability to captivate me.

And here in the United States we have a particular station that I am especially fond of.  Every morning I turn on my stereo and go about the routines of getting ready for work while listening to the news from National Public Radio. When I go on drives I tune in to “This American Life” or “Fresh Air” from a recorded podcast on my phone. I feel really comfortable allowing the likes of Ira Glass, Terry Gross or any of the various reporters and entertainers from that station into my home. I like their connections to other parts of the world, their quirky little stories from our own country and their new perspectives on the world in which we live. What a joy it is to feel a level of comfort with complete strangers that I have come to trust even though I wouldn’t recognize them from any other character on the street except, perhaps, by their voice. I think that’s the wonder of radio.  It provides a level of intimacy that doesn’t typically border on the creepy like it can with movie stars or television personalities. At least, in my mind, radio personalities seem like the average person like a newspaper reporter, except I recognize their voice.

But that’s why I like radio. Why I like National Public radio is its variety and balance of entertainment and news that gives me insight into our country and our world. I know that other countries also have great radio broadcast corporations but here in the US we also have a really good thing going with NPR. So my love for radio combined with the balance and entertainment of NPR makes me really grateful for those stations.

Core of Discovery

Core of Discovery

You came upon me like one too many

bits of red sauced lasagna with red wine—

or maybe like the cannoli and coffee after—

burning up from my belly right

into my chest

almost buckling me over right there

at the gas pump.  But then, almost as quickly

You were gone, leaving me spent from

a little shopping.

The rest of the day I slept dreamlessly,

glad for Saturday,

And the year ticked by like one of those

Old wall clocks

buried in my chest that like

overpriced gasoline burned

into my chest

finally leaving me out in the rain

burning inside my chest

crying out as a robot

dug into me

bypassing that ticking

inside my chest

leaving me spent from

too much shopping for tomato sauce

spilt crying out on the ground

in the rain

or maybe it was the extra

glass of red wine?

Whatever happened, You

Surprised me

and I’m not sure

I’ll recover.

Brian Potter

73. Postal Service

            Sometimes the most obvious aspects of our lives go overlooked and underappreciated. They are those things that we really couldn’t even live without but because of that we almost view them as part of ourselves and forget to be thankful for them sometimes, even complaining about them in little ways—“I wish my hair weren’t so frizzy,” or “I wish my eyes were brown like hers.” That same under appreciation can also apply to our lives as Americans.

            The Post Office is one such American institution that truly is under appreciated. We have always relied on the Post Office to get our messages, gifts and trinkets to our friends and loved ones. Now we shop online and expect those parcels to somehow magically appear at our doors. And they do. That magic is all because of the American Postal Service. And I, for one, am an American who really feels glad that we have such a service. So next time you grouse about the price of that stamp of your favorite cartoon character, remember the magic is there and be thankful.

72. National Lands

            I have written a little bit about my reverence for America’s national forests and parks but I would be remiss if I didn’t include all the federal lands that we as Americans share. Where I grew up and here, near where I live, are plenty of fine examples of Bureau of Land Management lands along the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene and the Salmon River. There are campgrounds and rest stops on both of those bodies of water that are collectively owned by We, the People.

            There are huge swaths of the American west that are desert with beautiful rock outcroppings or endless fields of waving grass that we own and are able to enjoy. Some people write off the desert as some huge wasteland but those areas have a beauty all of their own and we own them together. No one ever thinks of National Grasslands but they are there in the plains and the hills and we own them as well. Oh, sometimes we might not like how these national lands are managed, but we have a say in that. We can contact the bureaus in charge of their management or the congressmen who we elect to be in charge of our national interests. I think that’s amazing. And I also know that while sometimes it seems like bureaucracies don’t listen, if we become squeaky wheels and gather other voices they will hear. Again, that’s a big Wow! that I have that right. And one I take advantage of.

            I love the wide open spaces of the American west but I am well aware of the fact that the American west is also the most urban area of the country. Yet we have all these open public spaces that are beautiful, mountainous or seemingly endless stretches of grass that are ours together. Few other countries have such precious resources available to their people but we do as Americans. I, for one, am extremely thankful for that great American privilege and I intend to protect that resource to the best of my ability so that my children have the same thing in the years to come.

71. Forests

           There are zillions of things that I like about the forest. In the United States I am particularly fond of the fact that so much of that forest, especially here in Idaho, is national forest. Now I’m not going to lie and say I always agree with how national forests are managed, but I am glad that they are there for multiple use, for people like me to go out and get huckleberries, firewood or Christmas trees.

            Forests bring us clean air and beauty. Sunlight shining through the deciduous forests of Vermont or evergreen forests of Idaho is my real love. Forests and trees bring a sense of freedom and wildness that I cherish, and this country has a myriad of forest lands that we can use for our recreation, our sport and quite often our livelihoods. And no one person owns the national forests, we all do. Every person from rural wooded New Hampshire to urban Los Angeles has a part of it. So we need to enjoy those forests and use them for their inestimable value to us, not abuse them for temporal gain.

70. The White Pine

           I know that there are many people who have not done as I often do: walk through the woods, the seemingly endless woods of the Northwest or anywhere, for that matter. Since I am from Idaho one of my favorite trees that wasn’t all that present when I was a kid but is having a resurgence is the white pine. Many of them were killed off by blister rust in the early part of the 20^th Century but since that time foresters have helped the state tree of Idaho and Maine along with some disease resistance. And, yes, the white pine of Maine is a little different as an eastern white pine with its longer outspreading branches.

            But, as I was saying, I like to walk in the woods and the white pine has a pull over me. Most of that is because it is Idaho’s state tree, but much of it is also the fact that its trunk was the preferred tree of the 19^th Century American ships. Moby Dick’s Captain Ahab watched over the sea from the top of a white pine! That’s what I can see as I walk through the woods, so oblivious to mankind—or not? The trees stand tall here with perfectly symmetrical branches unlike any other evergreen. They seem so perfectly symmetrical that they appear like a forest of artificial Christmas trees. I haven’t seen one of those replanted, perfectly rowed, forests of white pine but I imagine it frequently in some Dali universe. I like how a tree, all of its own nature, flies in the face of my sense of forested irregularity, forests without patterns at all. The white pine takes a main mast and fundamentally puts a pattern right into my very being even if there are no watches dripping off its branches. The white pine is my Idaho wilderness perfectly blending into my humanly artistic sense of being. I absolutely love that. So there’s yet another wonder of my country that I love.

69. The Grand Canyon

           

          Western rivers have a way of forming grandiose landscapes out of the mountains from which they flow. The Colorado is no different as it flows its muddy way from the central Rockies to the Gulf of California. In fact, probably the most spectacular of all the canyons in the world is America’s very own Grand Canyon of the Colorado in northern Arizona. I have read many attempts to describe the awesome sight of that canyon, but nothing, not even photographs, can truly prepare you for what you will see. My experience has always been driving through the barren desert and forests of Juniper and Ponderosa Pine as you get there. You will see places to stop where there are restaurants and various promotions for the canyon, but at that point all you see are plains.

            Then it happens. You might cross a bridge over some gorge where the earth seems to open to the chasms of the deep. This is where some creek has found its way from the heights to the depths of the canyon. You drive further and (in winter or spring, at least—during summer you can’t drive in the park) you come to the edge. There the world opens up into brilliant rusts and ochres against a vivid blue sky and you are truly awe struck. It is unbelievable and indescribable. When you first see it all the babble and noise of the other tourists just inexplicably disappears and all you can do is stare. I imagine for some, especially those first people who ever came upon it without any preparation, the experience must border on terrifying. Here you are reminded of how tiny and insignificant you truly are and that can be both humbling and frightening. But it is also immensely beautiful. There are places all over the world that pull us away from ourselves. Here in America one of those places is the Grand Canyon. It’s one of those places I love.

68. Saguaro Cactus

            I grew up on the Little Salmon River in the heart of Idaho. While it can seem like a timbered area, it is fairly hot and dry in the summer. If you float down the river about fourteen, fifteen miles from where I lived you will meet the little town of Riggins. You won’t see many trees there and it has a high desert climate, though there is very little, if any, sage brush. The average rainfall there is around 20 inches or just under, so if it didn’t get so hot in the summer it would have less of that desert look but it’s nestled deep in canyon walls that intensify the summer sun. While you won’t just spot cactus growing on the hillsides, there are little Prickly Pear growing there.

            Since everywhere else around there is forested I became fascinated with the cactus growing on the hillsides near my home town. I also had an uncle who lived in Tucson, Arizona. My fascination and love of the Saguaro Cactus stems from those things. I love those giant cacti that can grow as high as 40 feet. The thought that you can walk around the Sonoran Desert and tap into one of those monstrous cacti and get liquid sustenance has always fascinated me. But to walk around much on a day over 100 degrees does not appeal to me, so I’ve never needed to tap into a Saguaro.

            The Saguaro is a very unusual species of cactus that is limited to the Sonoran Desert.  Even though you will see pictures of it somewhere in every little desert town in the west it can only be found in southern Arizona and a little patch of southeastern California and the Mexican state of Sonora. Funny that such a specifically placed cactus has become a symbol of the American west. But, then again as I said, cactus grows all over in the west so why not use the king of all cacti as the symbol of all of these western states? All of the western states, even the wilds of Alaska and the seeming tropics of Hawaii have desert climates. So, yeah, I love the Saguaro Cactus in all of its actuality and symbolism because I am an American man of the west.

Frost Covers the Cornstalks

Frost covers the cornstalks,

Shivers shocks to the ground;

Ice covers all the walks

Where all were wont to bound.

Colored leaves of yellow

Begin patterning grass

In myriad winnows

That were in the trees last

Night and now rimed with ice

In the yard. How quickly

Summer fades to this nice

Transition that soon grimly

Brings the bitter snowy

Cold. Just yesterday I

Was playing, now suddenly

I’m old. But here awhile

I’ll linger ‘midst colors bold

To hold in frozen tableau

My memories of old.

I still can move a bit

And, careful on this ice,

The mem’ries with wit

Arranged on grass so nice

As if still suspended

In the trees.

67. The Robin

Did you know that the robin, that harbinger of spring, is American? Oh sure, you can read British works that mention the robin, but that little bird in Britain is not the same bird. The American Red Breasted Thrush is our robin, not some sparrow sized white and red breasted beauty. I didn’t know that until I went to England over thirty years ago. Apparently our forefathers who came to this continent from England saw our little red breasted friend in the spring and he was the closest equivalent to their homesick longings for spring in England and they gave that name, robin, to him.

It’s really amazing how many things we have in this part of the world that we just think are everywhere but in reality they are a distinctive part of our continent and quite often, more particularly, our country. I know people don’t often think of that, but now, as we begin to approach winter and those little tweeting friends that drive our cats crazy begin to leave for warmer climates of the south, remember that they are specific to our part of the world. The robin, American Red Breasted Thrush, is specific to us. Just one more thing we Americans have to be thankful for. And I, for one, am thankful for all those robins in my back yard.

66. Cranberries

The negative press in the country seems to make us sound divided, and sometimes we are, but as Americans there are lots of things that unite us. That has been my focus in the blog and the entries that are numbered relate to those very American things that I am thankful for. Heres to cranberries:

It’s that time of year when I start thinking of cranberries because they are associated with the winter holiday season and right now the leaves are falling… But I also have heard of associations of cranberry juice with bladder infections, so maybe the berry could also have those illness associations that would make someone despise them. Not me. I love them. I remember as a kid having that gelatinous canned cranberry “sauce” with a turkey dinner and I didn’t like that. But now, as an adult, I have come to appreciate my home made cranberry “sauce” (more of a relish really) that is a mix of sugar, cranberries and whole oranges. And I’ve always loved cranberry juice. When I was in Europe I don’t really remember even hearing about cranberries. They seemed an unknown, even more so than peanut butter or root beer. While I didn’t miss them as much as I missed peanut butter, there was definitely an absence in my American sensibilities. I mean there really aren’t many European things you can’t get here but there seemed to be huge gaps in American things there. So, yes, cranberries are an American thing that I am grateful for.

65. Maple Syrup

            When I was younger and we would have pancakes I would use an imitation maple syrup like Mrs. Butterworth’s on them. It was ok and I didn’t know any better but when I was older and went to Vermont for the first time, I had real maple syrup. There was no going back for me. The real thing makes all the others pale.

            Maple syrup is a very American thing. I now am speaking North American because we all know that most real maple syrup you buy in the U.S. come from Canada. Maple trees are from this continent and taking their sap and boiling it down to a syrup comes from this continent. Given the choice between baked beans on toast or maple syrup on a waffle, I’m going to always choose the waffles and syrup. To me it’s a no brainer. And yes, I’ll gladly take a maple bar for breakfast. There are many things that are distinctly American and I’m grateful for them. I’m especially grateful for maple syrup.

64. British Culture in America

I wrote about how I am appreciative of the Hispanic culture in America, but I would be crazy not to mention the British influence on our culture and how much I love it. I mean, come on, an Anglophile like me with a Master’s Degree in English? I’ve got to love it. In America we still use all of the English measurements from the pound to the mile. Oh sure, we don’t use the “imperial” gallon, but that was just a matter of 15^th century standardization. And our language, however Americanized we’ve made it, is still English. Yes, our English is probably a bit more apt to borrow pronunciations of the words from whatever original language they came. You won’t hear an American fishmonger (if we even have those!) tell you there’s a T at the end of that word when you ask for a salmon filet. We keep the French pronunciation because we know it’s not really an English word at all.

But come on. England has always been about taking on every culture as its own. How American is that? Maybe we don’t Anglicize the foreign words, but we certainly incorporate them into our everyday existence so that, in all honesty, we don’t really know why we don’t follow the typical Anglo pronunciations. Pints and quarts are as American as apple pie and that’s why we Americans, like any good Brit, know to mind our P’s and Q’s even when we’re all about watching everything else (except maybe our manners, which we do mind).

There’s no doubt that Americans are heavily influenced by our British brethren though most of us don’t even know it. It’s not just historically, but currently. We watch “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” “The Office,” and countless other TV shows that aren’t on PBS but still had their start not in Hollywood or New York but in London. We know about the Beatles and that British invasion, but “American Idol” is British? Yes, it is. And I don’t have a problem with it at all. I’m always up for a good bit of fun. And a nice spot of tea with a splash of milk because I appreciate how I’ve been shaped by my British ancestry and how it continues to influence my country.

The Phrase That Lingers

The Phrase That Lingers

A phrase spoken lingers in the air

Hanging like a photograph on the wall

And I ponder it, much as I would that photograph.

Perhaps for everyone else time has moved on

But for me I’m caught in a sweet syrup

That flows slowly, clinging to the bottle,

It’s last drops hanging, nearly refusing

To let go.  And I’m that syrup

Clinging to that phrase.

Sometimes it might be words of beauty

That I want, perhaps need, to bask in.

Other times it cuts into me like a knife

And I won’t let go of the pain

Aching into my very core.

That last one is the phrase, like the photograph,

That I shouldn’t ever bother to even dust.

I should take it off the wall and

Throw it away.

But instead I wrap myself around it

Clinging to the pain it causes

Not even trying to drip off of it

Just ceaselessly clinging, remembering

That phrase came from

You.

Brian Potter

63. Hispanic American Culture

            With the exception of a year abroad as a Fulbright teacher in England, I have always lived in the United States and until some trips abroad I really had no understanding of what the “melting pot” really was. I just thought it meant that we were a bunch of nationalities and races coming together to form our own new nationality. I don’t really think that’s true anymore. I think we are still all those various cultures that have come together on the ideas espoused in the Declaration of Independence, still retaining our own individual cultures and remaking them without even knowing it. We have changed greatly over the past 400+ years because we live together and learn from others.

            Hispanic culture that filters up from Latin America is a huge cultural influence that is actually older than our “English” culture. And I love it. Come on, who doesn’t? Even when some may deride Hispanic culture as garish with its gaudy colored houses and chickens in the yard, we still eat Nachos, and drink Corona and Margaritas. We love chocolate and coffee that comes from South America. We hike through Canyons, wondering silently what a gorge even is. We Americans are so heavily influenced by Old Spain and its New World children that sometimes we don’t even know the words we speak as American English aren’t even part of the British lexicon.

            We Anglo-Americans are so confused we honestly think we aren’t enamored of Hispanic culture. I, for one, love that I can drive down the road and eat street tacos. I love that I had a pork burrito in salsa verde for lunch yesterday in Cle Elum, Washington. When I was in England I went to the one Mexican Restaurant in Exeter only to find that they thought blackened catfish with rice and beans was Mexican. I knew that even though Elizabeth I may have defeated the Spanish Armada, the marriage of the two cultures has its progeny right here in our New World country. So in my pursuit of happiness I wish to extol the virtues of Hispanic culture in America.

Running at 56

At 56 years of age I have finally given up on the idea that I need to run six days a week. I have found that when I run every single day (unless the runs are three miles and under) I get worn down, tired, and cranky. (I’m always cranky when I’m tired or stressed.) But I still want to stay in good enough shape to go for a run and enjoy it. Running keeps me in touch with my body and my emotions. Running is meditation and I don’t plan on giving it up.

During the summer I run anytime I feel like it. As a teacher I have time off and my commitments are based upon my schedule and not the ring of dismissal bells. I don’t get up as early because I don’t have to and I’ve never been a morning runner as a solo act but summers can get hot so morning is definitely the best time. Around here in June it’s still pretty cool so I can run anytime I want for the most part. So in June I did enjoy mid-morning runs, but as the summer heat intensified I started running around eight instead of ten.

Another bonus of being an older runner is that I’ve stopped worrying about being overly competitive. I don’t have to prove anything except that I still enjoy the sport. Now when I enter a fun run it really is fun. I do all the socializing that I ever did, but some of it is during the run. I’m not concerned about which side of me is being viewed while I run so I don’t try to keep everyone behind me.

I run every other day and if I need to take a walk break I don’t get upset about being out of shape. But now in September it’s cross country season and I’m back to running every day. While I am in good shape I still sometimes push myself a little hard, get winded and need to regroup my head space. I also have taken to amateur phone photography and runs are the perfect places for scenery, flowers and wildlife while taking a walk break. To be honest, I think I have reached the perfect point in my running life. I get to smell the roses, meditate, and stay healthy. Sometimes I’m fast and sometimes I’m not, but I’m always having a good time.

62. International Neighbors

            As a nation we are blessed to have two wonderful neighbors that we may not always treat the way they deserve to be treated. Both, like us, are New World countries and products of a blend of European and native cultures. Mexico, while heavily influenced by the Spanish, strongly retains its native culture and its influence upon the United States is rich. Even someone like me with those strong English ties right back to the Mayflower is indelibly influenced by this beautiful tropical and desert country to the south from my shrimp burrito Father’s Day meal to my Mexican step abuelita Consuela. It’s inescapable and I, for one, wish to embrace it, not repudiate it and prevent its citizens from coming north with a ridiculous wall. The Mexican people are the hardest working, most generous, family oriented people that I have ever met. I can’t listen to all the negative commentary about Mexico and still justify a taco and margarita. Instead, I want another margarita and a Mariachi band.

            And to our north, right out my back door, is the wild and frozen North of Canada. The closest macro-brewery I live by is Kokanee of the Columbia Brewing Company in Creston, British Columbia. And you know by now that beer is important to me… More trade goes across the most peaceful international border in the world. Our cultures are also indelibly intertwined to the point that our accents are nearly indistinguishable. Almost all of our holidays are the same, even if they aren’t always shared on the same days. We share taigas and tundra and mountains and rivers and plains and lakes. While the French influence may dominate the culture of Canada like the Spanish does the United States, all three countries still have the influence of English, Spanish, and French cultures intertwining and overflowing our borders. North America is a beautiful continent that Americans should take pride in being a part of and I want to start by embracing my neighbors. I don’t want to be so insular that I forget to love Mexico and Canada. And then there are the Caribbean Islands…

61. Lake Champlain

Lake Champlain seems a world away and I sometimes even forget that it’s in my own country.  It rests beautifully just south of the Quebec border forming a great part of the boundary between New York and Vermont. The Green Mountains rise from its shores to the east and to the west is the expanse of the Adirondack Range.  On early summer days when it is cool I can imagine myself ferrying across it from somewhere in Vermont to somewhere in New York. The cerulean sky is mottled with puffy cotton like clouds with here and there a darker one threatening to rain on some distant shore. The breeze blows over my face sometimes lifting the bill of my hat so I finally have to turn it around to keep it from blowing away into these waters claimed by some crazy Frenchman several hundred years ago.

Again, the beauty of water somewhere in my country astounds me. I am drawn to Champlain differently than other bodies of water, though, because in so many ways it seems to be the birthplace of this country I love. I have no doubt that Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys spent many a day on the shores of this lake. And the U.S. Navy was born right there at Whitehall, New York. Several naval battles against the British were fought on these waters in the war of 1812 and the evidence is still being dredged up today. Naval battles on a lake you can always see the shore? Wow!

I have spent quite a few youthful summers on this lake’s shores. I have toured Fort Ticonderoga and almost every time I see yellow Ticonderoga pencils in the hands of a student my mind whisks me right back to that lake. I often go to lakes and seaside bays when I can’t get away physically but my mind necessitates that I do. And what would one expect of a boy born on the shores of a lake and raised in the canyon of rushing waters? And so Lake Champlain is one of those places in our country that I am thankful for.

60. The Great Lakes

This blog is, currently, my gratitude for things American and I'm enumerating them as I go.

            Erie, Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Superior…the Great Lakes. These huge inland fresh water seas lie huge in the American (and Canadian) imagination. Huge portions of our population have never seen those waters yet we all know about them. We know about the woods of their shores, the birch bark canoes of the Iroquois that have crested their waves. We know how they contributed to our westward migration. We know how they brought trade to the interior.

            And I think the Great Lakes are beautiful. Everywhere I’ve seen them (Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula) they are free of excessive human population. I also love water, so it’s no big surprise that I love how those lakes dwell in my imagination. They are big beautiful bodies of water that represent peace in not only the blue of their waters but the international border they form. They are a place where two nations can be calmed by healing waters, united by trade and made into the most powerful nations in the world. And like any body of water in my imagination they represent cleansing, forgiveness and relief from the stress of the world. I am so thankful for the great lakes and their beauty, their connection and their place in the imagination of North Americans.

59. Crater Lake

Sometimes my mind goes into overdrive with thoughts. What am I going to do about this? What am I going to do about that? And on and on. But other times I feel like I’m sitting atop Wizard Island on a calm sunny day looking into the eternal blue depths of Crater Lake. I know that image seems random but Crater Lake is a place of great serenity in my mind and that it is there while I may be miles away gives me great comfort.

            Sometimes we just have to take stock in those things that may momentarily be inaccessible and think about them. I’ve heard it said that Crater Lake is the deepest lake in North America and that seems plausible. It has a deep sapphire blue to it and all the negative thoughts in my mind can just be plunged into the depths of that beautiful lake to be gradually resurfaced in tiny increments with the rippling of the wind—tiny increments that don’t overwhelm me in the rush of a raging river but the contemplative serenity of a deep blue.

            Crater Lake is in the heart of the Oregon Cascades and its reality is always a vacation trip away for me, but sometimes even when I can’t go on vacation its presence in my mind is enough. Its presence gives me permission to leave my heavy thoughts alone and to let them disperse completely. That’s true with so many of the natural landscapes of our country. They allow us to realize we aren’t really that big of a deal. There are other things much bigger than us and that is ok. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we aren’t really very important in the whole scheme of things so our little self-manufactured problems are even less important. Places like Crater Lake remind us of beauty and help us forget our little uglinesses that we make all by ourselves. For me great depths of water in the high mountains remind me of the beauty in the world. And for that I am thankful for Crater Lake.

58. Moose

            I live in an area where there are plenty of moose. There is an extra large deer crossing sign south of here on US Highway 95 that is actually the place with the highest number of moose crossings in Idaho. The state highway department used to place a moose crossing sign there but it was stolen so often that they replaced it with a big deer crossing sign and a flashing light. If you hit a moose you will most likely die, it’s not just a matter of car damage.

            Moose are larger than horses for the most part. They have an extremely awkward appearance and usually wander alone. More often than not you’ll see the cows, but sometimes the bulls will wander around with their over sized racks looking comically fearsome. For whatever reason people fear them less than bear but that is human foolishness because they are far more dangerous and unpredictable than bear and they are also several times faster.

            I find moose to be awkwardly beautiful. Their legs are abnormally long allowing them to tread through deep snow or wade through lakes and rivers completely undisturbed by the water’s depths. They are an animal of the north and therefore they represent the isolation, desolation and fearsome beauty of those climes.

            I think the isolation of frozen wilderness, the awkwardness of a large amazing animal and the strange loneliness of a moose is a beautiful thing. These animals, in some strange way, remind me to get out of myself and to feel fine about being alone even when I’m surrounded by people. I certainly can’t claim to have their stature, nor do I feel like I stand out in any way as they do but like anyone I have those feelings of awkwardness and being alone. A moose reminds me of that beauty and strength in being awkward and I love that they are around me reminding me that it’s ok to be me. They are an elusive American icon of the north and I’m grateful for them.

57. The Palouse

            This area where I live is extremely beautiful. The Palouse of northern Idaho and eastern Washington is a hilly wonderland squeezed between the east slope of the Bitterroot Mountains, and the rising edge of the Columbia Plateau. It is made from the fertile volcanic ash that blasted forth from the Cascade Mountains thousands of years ago and was blown eastward by the prevailing winds. It is where the sage brush desert gradually rises into the mountains and scrapes the moisture from the easterly moving Pacific storms. The climate here is temperate with four complete seasons and now in the spring/early summer the Palouse is resplendent with green. Here the soil is not rocky so it retains the moisture it receives sending it back to the abundant wheat, canola, pea, lentil and other grains that make this area a veritable bread basket.

            Another great thing about living here, besides the abundant beauty of verdant rolling fields against a backdrop of evergreen forested mountains is the relative isolation. If you go north in Idaho you come up against beautiful mountain lakes that attract tourists. If you go north in Washington you come up against the metro area of Spokane. Here it’s quiet with few people except the occasional roadside photographer that often gets her snapshot published in some national calendar or magazine. In spite of that frequency of photographed splendor we still aren’t overwhelmed with tourists.

            The proximity of the lakes and Spokane along with the twin universities—Washington State University and the University of Idaho—give plenty of human activity for the residents of the Palouse but more often than not you will find us escaping the bustle and working the fields  or mountains where we live. This is a place of great beauty, just the right amount of human interaction and an abundance of natural resources. I can think of few other places that I would more want to call home than the Palouse.

                                                                                                 

56. Huckleberries

            It may seem like the wrong time of year to extol the virtues of the huckleberry but I can get into my freezer and stick a handful in my morning oatmeal, so why not sing their praises?

            In late summer I can often be found on a hillside in the Hoodoo Mountains picking these treasured little berries.  While I love the flavor I also love the act of picking them.  Being out in the woods, usually with a friend or two, hidden in the bushes seemingly alone and calling out only occasionally to my friends and just forgetting everything in the world except these little purple jewels is a luxury I can’t describe or even share with many others.  Most other people don’t get it, that seeming alone time to just think.  And here in May when things can feel hectic and overwhelming I can just pull out a handful of that alone time and plop it in my oatmeal.  I can smell the heat and the forest.  I can hear the insects buzzing but I don’t think about work.  I can feel my breakfast melting me into a world apart, a huckleberry heaven that is all my own.

            Huckleberries are tart with a strong scent.  You can often smell them on the hillsides when they are ripe, their scent sweet and alluring.  They make great pies, syrup and other sweets but they can also add a nice tang to savory foods.  They are expensive to buy so any huckleberry food products from Idaho and Montana (where they are common) can also become costly.  But after you’ve picked them a few times—they’re only wild, never cultivated—and you spend an hour only to get half a gallon you soon understand that $40 a gallon isn’t such a bad deal.  Personally I would rather spend my summer afternoons on a mountainside whiling the time away with a couple friends in a huckleberry patch and bring all that joy to mind in a nice breakfast in May or an October piece of pie.  I love huckleberries.

We Must Together Rise

 There are mornings when the world’s weight presses,

Presses upon you so heavily that

The effort of rising from the bed seems

An impossibility. Isn’t there

Anything new to contemplate besides

The darkness of mankind that presses my

Head to the pillow in spite of the bright

That mockingly filters through the morning

Blinds? We struggle every day against

lies, against disease, against death and it

Continues to oppress us. Sometimes our

Brightest seem to wield the darkness best as

A sword against others. How long must we

Watch our waters turn to blood? How long will

We force women to bear children into

Poverty? How long will we continue to

Poison the children who had no choice in

Their birth? When will we stop corralling kids

In schools where we send the insane with guns

To have their way with slaughter? This presses

Upon me. And yet the sun persists to

Shine.  I will rise. We must together rise.

55. Cascade Range

                        Another mountain range that has a tendency to be especially wet, scraping moisture from the Pacific skies, is the Cascade Range. This range extends from northern California into southwestern British Columbia and provides the dramatic backdrop for the west coast cities of Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, British Columbia. It is a volcanic range so from Mount Rainier to Mount Shasta you’ll see plenty of huge, seemingly isolated peaks and it is all part of that famous Pacific Ring of Fire. In 1980 Mount St. Helens blew her top and coated much of the Inland Northwest and northern tier states with ash.

            My personal experience with the Cascades comes more from driving trips than much hiking. I frequently drive over Snoqualmie Pass in Washington as I head from Idaho to Seattle. Both Washington and Oregon have what is known as the Cascade Curtain which divides both those states into the western rain forests to the eastern deserts of the Great Basin and Columbia Plateau. But both sides of those states also reap the benefits of the moisture the Cascades provide because of the great rivers that flow from both sides of their slopes into the mighty Columbia River. This river breaks through the Cascades forming the border between Washington and Oregon in the Columbia Gorge. It’s all incredibly dramatic in scenery and everyone should experience the drives across the Cascades from east to west or vice versa.

            The Cascades are riddled with national parks. There is Mt. Lassen National Park, Crater Lake National Park, Mt. Rainier National Park and North Cascades National Park. There are ski resorts all along the range and many of the peaks are snow covered all year with glaciers to boot. Some of my favorite places in the Cascades are in those very parks. It’s very cool to walk a forested trail with old growth trees covered in moss. These parks have preserved that. A hike at Mt. Rainier’s Ohanapecosh can be like walking in a fairy land where sometimes even the winged insects will look a bit like fairies gliding through the air pausing to land on a mossy bower. The Cascades are beautiful and I’m grateful for them.

54. The Hoodoo Mountains

I love where I live here on the northeastern edge of the Palouse where it gives way to the Hoodoo Mountains of Latah and Benewah counties in Idaho. The mountains here are the source of the Palouse and Potlatch Rivers and a northern extension of the Clearwater Mountains, the western slope of the Bitterroot Mountains. The highest peak in this range is Bald Mountain at 5,335 feet, so it’s not exactly a high elevation range but it’s beautiful and it is home. These are the mountains where I camp, hike and ski, where I pick huckleberries and mushrooms, where I get panoramic views of the Bitterroot Mountains and the rolling hills of the Palouse. I have taken my boys camping at Laird Park, driven to the top of Bald Mountain and watched the moon eclipse the sun here. While they aren’t the mountains I grew up in (they are far too wet compared to those) they are the mountains I have chosen for my home. They are easily accessible and in them you are not terribly isolated but they aren’t a haven for tourists. You can get confused about whether or not you are on public lands or Potlatch lands and that can be an annoyance, but they are beautiful and in my back yard. I am ever grateful for the Hoodoo Mountains of Idaho.

53. The Wasatch Mountains

            I know my entries have made it overly obvious that I love the mountains. I live in the mountains and I am intrigued by the mountains.  One range that I really love extends from the lower part of Utah into southeastern Idaho and is best known as the Wasatch Range. But in Idaho the same range is commonly referred to as the Bear River Range.  That’s also the part of the range with which I am more familiar, though certainly I’ve been through Utah.  And lots of people are familiar with the range if they’ve ever flown into Salt Lake City and seen the mountain backdrop. That’s it, the Wasatch Range. It’s a destination ski resort in Park City and the range hosted the Salt Lake Winter Olympic Games of 2002. 

For me it is by far the driest mountain range I have ever lived in or near (and I did live there for six years as a teacher in southeastern Idaho).  It’s still part of the great Rocky Mountain Range, and it gets the weather pattern with which I am familiar. So winter is snowy and cold and summer is hot and dry.

The valleys are all sage brush desert and part of the Great Basin.  The hillsides are covered in juniper and maple so that autumn is brilliant with color in every draw and canyon.  When you go a little higher you’ll find aspen groves (some of the largest in the world) and blue spruce, Douglas fir and white fir and pine.  I’ve never been real comfortable in desert but I loved being able to take a short drive into the hills and get into what they call the Canadian life zone and feel right at home.  I also found huckleberry patches that were pretty much all mine because no one there seemed all that familiar with them.  And the mountains there have plenty of wildlife including moose which I had always associated with more northern climes. They thrive in the little reservoirs formed by the many beaver dams.

The Wasatch/Bear River mountains are a beautiful American Gem in a dry and barren land and I am especially grateful for those mountains.

Preparing to Run Bloomsday

It’s after spring break now and officially spring. I am trying to ready myself for Bloomsday but again I know I won’t be ready because I’m starting too late. I am becoming rigid about what days I am going to run. I can’t put it off anymore, not that I was ever actually planning to put it off. I want to be able to run that 12K under an hour ten but I’ve let snow and rain disrupt my training. Because of that I have had to shift my goal to just running the entire distance with just a few walk breaks at water stations. I also don’t want to have the last mile or so be a death march. It’s never actually been a death march, but it has seemed interminably long. I think that the ship for preventing that has sailed, but I’m not going to stop trying to make it easier. And that will come from sticking to my weekly plan. But even when I stick to my plan of miles and days I will run I know individual runs will not meet the possibilities I want because my investment is more in the act of running than the success of Bloomsday. That is what I have to remember with each step. And so I will.

52. The Selkirk Moutains

As far as mountain ranges go, one of the wettest is the Selkirk Range of the Idaho Panhandle, Northeast Washington and extending way up into the interior of British Columbia.  I just spent the first three days of my spring break there.  If you want sunshine and sandy beaches for your spring break, I wouldn’t advise this area. But if you’re ok with rain and snow and beautiful stormy lakes—big lakes—you might give it a try.

            I fell in love with the Selkirk range when I was in high school working for the Youth Conservation Corps at Priest River Experimental Forest. While Priest Lake was oh so reminiscent of my own Payette Lake, I was overwhelmed by the endless mountains that weren’t necessarily that high but were covered with forests, rain forests. I still love it up there. It’s filled with wildlife that connects itself to the arctic. You still encounter woodland caribou and grizzly bears there and no reintroduction of wolves was ever necessary in this part of the world.

            Now, if you go, you really should take your passport and explore this range into Canada. I don’t know if there is any lake more beautiful than Kootenay Lake. (I know I’m writing about things I’m thankful for in America, but some of America’s parts are inextricably combined with its neighbors to the north and south and Trumpishly ignoring that will be perilous.) This lake is a southern Canadian jewel and its waters flow right back into Idaho, Montana and Washington (all part of the Columbia River drainage). In fact, all these lakes and rivers of British Columbia, Idaho Montana and Washington are from the massive amounts of water the Selkirks scrape from the sky. The second wettest place in the lower 48 is the Selkirk Mountains in Washington and Idaho. (The Olympics are first.)  The Selkirks are awe inspiring from Mt. Revelstoke to Arrow, Kootenay, Priest and Pend Oreille lakes (to name a few) to Kootenay Pass and Chimney Rock. When you hike these mountains be aware of avalanches and no matter the season wear water proof gear. These mountains are a North American gem.

Remains of Autumn Leaves

Remains of autumn leaves, a brownish gray

Scattered about the lawn now give their way

To sprouts of green that from the snow crushed grass

Begin to show. And then small purple mass

Sprouting from green and gray you peep above

The brindled mass of composted must’ves

To promise me more than that of regrets,

Away with winter’s death, no more of debt.

Your passion of blood mixed with endless blue

Now transcends how I comprehend the new.

Just little purple crocus at lawn’s edge

Remind me I’ve no need to bets to hedge.

51. The Green Mountains

Another mountain range that I am particularly fond of is back east in the state that bears their name: the Green Mountains of Vermont. In terms of size they aren’t very high, but after having been there a few times I realized that mountain height comes more from sea level perspective. So while the highest mountain in Vermont might only be the elevation of the eastern Idaho Snake River Plain, when you’re seeing Mt. Mansfield from the shores of Lake Champlain it can look every bit as high as some of the peaks of the Rockies. But having said that, the Green Mountains don’t have that rugged look. They are more comparable to the Hoodoo Mountains out my back door except even less angular than that. Something about the difference between an evergreen forest and a deciduous forest seems to change the shape of everything. So the Green Mountains have a softer look than anything out west. I won’t lie and tell you that it made me like them more. I had to spend some time in them to realize I needed to just enjoy them as they were not waste time making comparisons. And that is how I came to love them in their own right. Do you know that more rainfall comes to the Green Mountains in summer than in winter? And I spent summers there in that humidity that wasn’t usually all that bad since it doesn’t tend to get too hot.

            The summer rains can be heavy and come in wild storms that cause the rivers to swell. Out west we expect that mainly in the spring from the snow melt that in some places never completely stops until the snow falls again. In the Green Mountain summers you aren’t going to see snow capped peaks and when you climb those peaks you are going to have to climb a tree if you want to see the views. There is a totally different dimension to mountain climbing in heavily wooded deciduous mountains that I leaned to enjoy. There is something soothing and comforting in the Green Mountains, that while not the Wild West, I have come to love.

50. Salmon River Mountains

I don't number all my blog posts, but the ones I do number are part of my list of things I am thankful for in America. Time magazine inspired me in 2016 with their list of 240 things to be grateful for in America on our 240ths anniversary. Why not pay it forward and think positive about our country? Negative things always happen, but there is no need to focus on them.

            In Idaho there is a particular outcropping of mountains that extends from the spine of the Rockies to the point where the Snake River decidedly turns north and forms Hell’s Canyon.  Geologists know this band as the Idaho Batholith. In Idaho the area has often been called the roadless area and in more recent years the wilderness area.  Those of us who live in it or near its edges know it more particularly to its mountain ranges—all of it being part of the Bitterroot chain of the Rocky Mountains, the part of that chain that forms the Montana/Idaho divide. The parts of those mountains north of the Salmon River are known as the Clearwater Mountains and those to the south are the Salmon River Mountains.

            I have a particular fondness for those Salmon River Mountains. If you’re watching a Boise weather forecast they’ll call them the Central Mountains and then get specific with either the West Central Mountains or East Central Mountains. Of course I grew up in the West Central Mountains, but I have always had a fascination with the entire range.

            Of course I’ve hiked all over the western edge of the Salmon River Mountains, but I’ve also spent a share of time in the eastern parts. Old abandoned mining towns sprinkle those mountains—places like Florence and Deadwood.  As I said before, most of it is now designated wilderness but parts of it are still penetrable by road.  While these mountains are drier than the Clearwater Mountains they are still forested with pine, Douglas fir, Tamarack, Grand fir and Aspen and an Engelmann spruce in the creek beds.  Sometimes you’ll happen upon old abandoned homesteads marked by apple trees, raspberries gone wild and perhaps a tombstone that seems as out of place as you do while you read it. These mountains are sometimes so vivid in my imagination that I am in them when I’m walking down the streets of Spokane or Boise.  They never leave me, or I never leave them… I don’t know which it is.  I am so grateful for this particular place in the American landscape.                                                                                       

49. The Rocky Mountains

I’ve lived most of my life tucked into the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. To me there is no greater comfort than that very mountain range. I have always had this strange, sometimes irrational, fear of exposure on the open plains. I can see myself being the victim of large birds swooping down and carrying me away. But the mountains offer protection and shelter from all of those fears. Of course the mountains create their own fears, but all of those I have not often considered.

            I’ve written frequently of my love for the rivers of this country, especially my own Salmon River. The Rocky Mountains are the source of so many of these rivers. Their peaks rise up on the western side of the North American continent and spread from the northern to southern tip. They gather the mists of the Pacific Ocean in frozen crystals at their great height and preserve them in glaciers and snow banks that gradually melt into those life giving streams that flow in raging torrents and gentle streams back to that very ocean from whence they first came or east to the Gulf of Mexico where they warm and swell into the mighty and devastating hurricanes we have all come to fear.

            This majestic mountain range encapsulates the beauty of our planetary home. We sing of them and dream of them in our songs. Without them there would never have been a Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer or even me singing my own river songs. Those of us Americans of the west (and Canadians and Mexicans as well) owe so much of our existence to this great range of mountains that it would be foolish not to be thankful for them with all their peaks and valleys and their spine of our continent, their rivers and barren deserts. All of it gives me a great sense of wonder and majesty that can only be summed up in a Rocky Mountain high.

48. The Open Road

I didn’t realize the beauty of the open road in America until I lived in the UK for awhile. It’s especially true when you live out west and you see signs that say “Next Gas 65 Miles.” Of course that means you have to be prepared, but generally we are. In the UK you can drive for some distance and only come away with vertigo because you have seen nothing but hedges and walls. And I can’t deny that that tunnel of green is pleasantly overlooked in the moors so that one hardly recognizes the existence of roads on the verdant landscape.

            But here in the states there are places you can drive endlessly over mountains and look over vistas to see the vastness sprawling before you and only an asphalt ribbon and maybe another car here or there to even let you know there have been people here. I have driven all across this country of ours and have been amazed that there is so much to see and explore driving down the open road. Who could imagine that a yellow diamond sign cautioning for curves ahead could present a beauty of freedom because it is riddled with bullet holes? I certainly never thought I could until I came home after a year in the UK and drove across the vast Columbia Plain of Central Washington. In all of my jet lagged exhaustion I saw that sign, those holes, that lone curve on a solitary road and I knew I was home. Of course I could chide the idiot who shot up the sign that someone’s hard earned tax dollars (MINE!) had paid for, but at that moment I probably would have been more likely to hug the guy and tell him how happy I was to be home. At that moment I was made fully aware of the vastness of my home and the open road I love to drive down at almost any opportunity.