The sound of the flowing water is an unexpected surprise, and the waterfall is a welcome sight. I settle myself under a large tree - the temperature is heading towards 102’ and I’m happy for the respite. This sweet area isn’t on a mountain trail, it is across from the J Willard Marriott Library at the University of Utah - the U - in Salt Lake City. I’m here with Charlotte, who is wrapping up the second day of her new student orientation. 

Founded in 1850, the Tier 1 research university sits 400 feet above the city at an elevation of roughly 4730 feet. Yes, the library is named for that Marriott of hotel fame; the building holds a special place in his heart because he met his wife there. Besides the lovely waterfall, the campus is abundant with areas for study, rest, conversation and contemplation: benches tucked between trees and flowers, inviting patches of green, and open, shaded patios with tables and seats. 

The orientation for parents, separate from the student orientation, was held the first day. It provided general information and attempted to calm parental nerves. My favorite part was the student panel, in which several young women and men gave us the scoop on the best campus food (pizza!), what to actually bring to the dorm rooms (minifridge and extension cords!), and best transportation to the local ski areas like Alta and Snowbird (mooch off friends with cars!) 

We’re staying close to campus in a little charmer of a Victorian apartment in The Avenues - one of Salt Lake City’s first neighborhoods. Huge trees line the streets, providing filtered sunlight for the lush gardens adorning most homes, which range in architectural style from Prairie to Victorian, Queen Anne to Tudor. Some abodes are more humble than others, giving the beautiful neighborhood a down-to-earth feel. It is a delightful place to stroll as evidenced by the many dog-walkers morning and evening. The whole area is crazy hilly, à la San Francisco. Who knew? The first morning we headed out for a run - and found ourselves climbing a mile-long, very steep, uphill. Charlotte was at a relaxed pace, and I was attempting to stave off a cardiopulmonary event. 

We’ve checked out several coffee shops and outdoor gear retailers as potential workplaces for Charlotte. She’s made connections with some students as well as advisors and professors from her college of study, Social and Behavioral Science - her declared major is Environmental & Sustainability Studies with a minor in Documentary Film. She’s checking out the trail running and mountain biking clubs, and is looking forward to meeting fellow climbers at the campus climbing wall. She’s laying plans for how to squeeze her bike, her bass guitar and her skis into her tiny dorm room - who needs a desk?

Being her mom right now is a weird jumble of thoughts and emotions. Intense pride, excitement, conviction, and gratitude interwoven with the sense of a void, sadness, a smidge of worry, and taking a bigger step back as she does her thing. 

I think of those gardens in The Avenues. Some are carefully sculpted, precisely designed, controlled to be just so. Others have been given the soil, water, light and time they need, and, with the gentle directional nudge here and there, have evolved into their own amazingness. The bees and birds are attracted to their abundance; these unrestrained gardens have exactly what they need to flourish. 

I’ve watched Charlotte develop friendships with students who study hard, musicians who want to teach, climbers, canyoneers and river rafters who share experience and fun. She has honed her skills and developed her self-awareness, and she goes after what she wants. 

So yes, I have my mixed bag of feelings, and I’m sure I will continue to process these over the years. Such is the path of a parent. 

But the truth is that Charlotte is more than capable. She is surrounded by encouraging people. She has opportunities and the wherewithal to explore them. I see that my daughter has what she needs to thrive, and I am thankful for that. 

​It is a warm Sunday afternoon in July, and I’m eating a late lunch on my patio. Though I’ve been on an organize-and-declutter binge, my little place is still cool inside so the sunshine filtering through the lush aspen leaves is welcoming. There’s a movement in the mid-air to my right, and I see a robin glide to a low branch, a few feet from where I sit in my wooden rocker. From its perch, the robin sings. Smooth rusty brown chest, dark brown wings, black face with some white markings - and its beak doesn’t close. Is this open beak the way it sings? Is the pulsing throat a part of its vocalizing?

The way a bird produces song is by using its syrinx, similar to the human larynx. Air flows over membranes and cartilage to produce sound in the syrinx, which is the shape of an upside-down Y. Birds can use both passages at once, which means they can sing a high note and a low note at the same time. Still, looking at the open beak and pulsing throat of the bird off my patio, I think something is going on besides singing.

The robin flits down to the edge of one of my freshly planted half-barrel planters, the one with the lavender. Good choice. It balances there, facing me, and I notice that the beak still hasn’t closed and the throat fluttering continues, though there’s a break in the melody. Then it dawns on me. Perhaps the bird is panting. The robin continues to serenade, watching me as I watch it, admiring its color, its bright eyes, the pretty trills emanating effortlessly from its throat. After several minutes the robin catches sight of another bird, and whizzes away. It seems that I have been granted a gift today. 

I'm grateful and also curious. I do a little searching, and yes, birds do pant. Their form of panting is called gular fluttering, where moisture evaporates via their vibrating throat membranes and open beak. Some research indicates that the size of the bird's bill is related to the temperature of their environment; blood flow to the beak is another cooling mechanism.

Birds use other strategies to stay cool in the heat. Bathing in cool water, as well as spreading wings and fluffing feathers, are effective at thermoregulation. They also tend to feed in early morning or evening hours, finding shade and shelter during the hotter part of the day, thus avoiding the heat and spending their energy more efficiently. 

The expression “birdbrain” as an insult to intelligence is a misnomer as birds clearly demonstrate greater wisdom than many humans. Just yesterday I saw someone floppy-jogging down the black asphalt street during peak heat - better to seek the shade beneath a nice large tree or shrub. Birds have a one-up on us: I wish I could produce beautiful song while cooling myself with gular fluttering.

Sources/Learn More
Finger Lakes Land Trust: Songs In the Key of Life…
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service: How do birds keep cool in the summer?
Audubon: How Birds Keep Their Cool

We arrive in Salida just in time to catch the afternoon parade. It is 4th of July and my daughter Charlotte and I are in Salida to see a friend’s band. We find a shady spot and watch the lady pioneers walk by with Abe Lincoln, and a couple of politicians waving from their big bedazzled SUVs. Next are several sequined young women on horses followed by a crew of young boys armed with horse-sized pooper-scoopers. An old green tractor rolls slowly by, with an even older fellow hunching over the steering wheel - and that’s it. Ten minutes of parading and we are back in business. 

I’d spent a little time in Salida over the years, but it’s a favorite for Charlotte since she went to FIBArk Whitewater Festival several weeks ago. (FIBArk = First In Boat on the Arkansas River.) The aptly named Riverside Park, right alongside the Arkansas, is a great place to spend a holiday. Families loll on the grass, local bands play at the bandshell, and there is a crowd of young, old and in-between dancing away to the groovy tunes. I haven’t danced with Charlotte since she was a young girl; twirling around today with her is dreamy and I feel like the luckiest person alive.

We meet up with our friends to watch the band we came to see: Patrice Pike and the Black Box Rebellion. Patrice makes the annual trip to Salida to perform on the 4th because that is her aunt’s birthday. This year her aunt is celebrating 82, and she in her heart-shaped sunglasses, along with her crowd of friends, are lighting up the dance floor. Charlotte and I join them, and this crowd too is filled with all ages having a good time.

At sundown we make tracks to our campsite, on the river a few minutes south of town. This is the first night for Charlotte’s brand-new backpacking tent and I’m honored to be invited in. She leaves the fly off since we’re not expecting rain. The roof is mesh, and we fall asleep gazing at the stars and listening to the soft flow of the river.

We break camp at 4:00 am and drive to the trailhead a few miles west of Buena Vista. By 5:45 we are hoofing it up the trail, and it is cold. Even with my down jacket and the blistering pace Charlotte is setting.

Last September we climbed our first 14er (read about it here), Mt. Sherman, which is considered “easy.” I figured Yale wouldn’t be that much more difficult. I was wrong. Sherman is just over 2000 feet of elevation gain with a round trip of roughly five miles. Yale is over 4000 feet of elevation gain, in a round trip of about ten miles. It doesn’t take a PhD in math to understand that there is a significant difference here. 1x Yale = 2x Sherman. Somehow I glossed over this basic equation.

Well above treeline but still a ways to the summit, I am not feeling great. My quads are quivering from the steep trail and stone step-ups, and my cardiovascular system is unhappy about being in the red for three hours. I pull off the trail for some fuel. 

Because my body has reactions to a lot of foods right now, I am loaded with items that work: rice and zucchini, salmon in a pouch, and YAMS - Japanese Sweet Potatoes to be specific. Mash some coconut oil into those babies, and yum-yum. The cold wind whips at my hood and face, but it is not getting my yam. After snarfing a few bites, I feel so much better, but Charlotte is still having to wait on me quite a bit. I keep reminding myself that she is 18 and super strong. I am 56 and definitely feeling my high mileage.

We reach the saddle with some excitement that we are almost there and some trepidation about this last push. The trail from the saddle to the summit is playfully called a rock scramble. Keep in mind we are towards the top of a 14,274- foot peak, and the exposure is real. This poses a slight challenge to persons like me with acrophobia, or fear of heights. Charlotte, who has overcome her own fears after a bad hiking fall last summer, leads the way. The cairns that mark the route are scarce, and she is a good trail finder. She also encourages me through several meltdowns.

Using both arms and legs to climb the solid rocks is grounding. It turns out that tunnel vision is my friend and I begin to ignore that freaky drop-off. Reaching the summit feels like a real accomplishment.

The Mt. Yale summit is a rather sobering experience. On Sherman, it felt like a party: people sharing food, dogs frolicking, everybody laughing and talking. Mt. Yale feels like a board meeting of serious pros. I am truly flabbergasted by the number of people running this mountain in their tiny shorts and knee-highs. There are plenty of friendly people and dogs along the trail, they just aren’t on the summit when we are.

After some quick pics we head back down, wanting to get out of the wind. The joy of surviving the summit is short-lived, as the descent starts to decimate what tiny bit of strength still remains in my suffering quads. Charlotte traipses along, snapping pictures of flowers to later identify and draw in her field journal, while I navigate the steps and large rocks in my own private hell.

After a couple of hours, even Charlotte is wondering why this descent is twice as long as the climb. As we clamber over the final log stairs just above the parking area, I am cursing the trail. We expected to be about six hours; our total time is seven hours and change. If she hadn’t patiently waited on me, Charlotte could probably have knocked an hour off our time.

​It was a grueling day and I feel old, tired, deconditioned, and embarrassed that I slowed us down so much. Then I take stock. My quads are quivering but my legs held up. My ribs are sore, but that is from dancing! I pushed through significant fear to make the summit. More importantly, I spent this day with Charlotte. Yesterday we danced at the river. Today we climbed a mountain. And I got to do all of this with my amazing daughter.

​One afternoon this past spring my parents and I were enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine in the wooded canyon behind their Little Red Cabin, known in the family as the LRC. We came upon the hooped tree pictured above. Wow! We hadn’t noticed it on previous hikes, and it seemed rather magical. How did this happen?

It is possible that one side of that particular branch was damaged, and did not grow at the same rate as the other side, creating the asymmetry that caused the branch to grow back towards the ground. Another possibility is that that low branch was weighted by snow long enough that the branch did not resume growing skyward. It continued to grow downward, causing the bend in the main trunk before the tree righted itself to grow straight up once again.

My research did not turn up a definitive reason for the hooped branch of our tree. Regardless of the cause, this hoop - and what I found poking around online -  is a testament to the resilience and tractability of trees. 

Trees have three main parts: crown, trunk and roots. The trunk conducts nutrients, the foliage on the branches (boughs or twigs) conducts photosynthesis, and the roots provide nutrients from the soil. All parts of the tree grow: roots, branches and trunk, and are quite versatile over time and with necessity. I found this article’s illustrated trunk cross-section interesting:  Arborist Now.com: The Basic Anatomy of a Tree

Roots have hair-like projections which serve to stimulate growth in the current direction, or stop growth if an obstacle is encountered. The root hairs accomplish this by a protein at their tip; this protein causes uptake of calcium for growth, and the cycle continues. The roots can grow out to a distance twice the height of the tree. If the root hairs hit an object, the calcium uptake - and thus the growth - come to a halt. All About Trees.com: Trees Can Grow Around Obstacles

Edaphoecotropism, also known as “stress avoidance” is the ability of living tissues to grow around things. The engulfing occurs as the roots and woody tissue of the tree grow towards areas of least stress, thus surrounding or “eating” the item. The objects do not hurt the tree; in fact some articles indicate that the incorporated objects help strengthen the tree.

Here are some amazing photos of objects like trucks and fences swallowed by trees: Scenic Hudson.org: Trees that Eat Things. My favorite from this article is the bike tree. A young man headed off to World War I left his bike against the tree, but never retrieved the bike. The tree, in its edaphoecotropic (according to Google this word does not exist, I believe it should) manner, grew up and around the bike, so that the bike is now well above the ground, a part of the tree.

I loved the playset in my grandparent’s backyard in Glen Burnie, Maryland, between two towering oak trees. It had a slide that the squirrels would careen down over and over, having a marvelous time. It also had a swing. Long before my time, and the ends of the pole to which the swing was attached had been stuck in the oak trunks. Over time the trunks had grown around and onto the pole a few inches - there’s that edaphoecotropism again. The trees growing like this was a wonder to me, and I never tired of looking at those guardian oaks keeping my swing safe.

​Sources/Learn More
Arborist Now.com: The Basic Anatomy of a Tree

All About Trees.com: Trees Can Grow Around Obstacles

Scenic Hudson.org: Trees that Eat Things

Riparian Habitat Restoration.ca: post explaining edaphoecotropism (scroll to middle of article)