​​On a gray drizzly walk with a dear friend last weekend, we were lucky enough to spot this bald eagle. We had the pleasure of watching for about ten minutes before the chill drove us away. We were hoping to see the eagle dive for prey in the river, but it didn’t leave its perch. What a regal being that eagle was, with its snowy white head, curved golden beak and formidable talons, and large dark brown body. Its calm, observant bearing, its patience and awareness, seemed to indicate a keen intelligence. The bald eagle is often artistically portrayed as the courageous and resolute symbol of the United States; having the chance to witness this eagle in a tranquil natural setting was a true gift.

Here are a few facts about bald eagles:

• Bald eagles have a dive speed of 100mph!
• Sightings of bald eagles in Colorado in both winter and summer are not unusual. They are often near water, and their favorite foods include fish, waterfowl, muskrat, rabbit, and squirrels. 
• Although they once were found throughout North America, their population declined dramatically due to DDT and other pesticides, human disturbance and loss of trees for nesting. Bald eagles were listed as endangered or threatened from 1978 until 2007, when they had recovered so successfully they were removed from the endangered and threatened species list. 
• Females, at 10-14 pounds, are larger than the males, who weigh in at eight to nine pounds. 
• Wingspans run six to eight and a half feet! 

Sources/Learn More
Colorado Parks and Wildlife: Bald Eagle
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service: Bald Eagle
Birds and Blooms: 7 Interesting Bald Eagle Facts

Zip! 
Zing! 
Zonk! 
That’s the sound of the squirrels of Thompson Park. They sprint around and up the tree trunks, spring from branch to branch, and pause once in a while to hurl a piece of bark or a hard berry at us as we gaze up at their antics. 

Thompson Park, in Longmont, Colorado, is a favorite of young Charlotte and mine. It consists of five acres of green grass in summer turning to snowy fields in winter, with a large play area and a few bushes perfect for hide and seek. The huge shade trees are perfect for sweltering days, and the squirrel population is busy year-round. We often meet our friend Kate (Charlotte calls her Cake), and her two charges, boys a little older than Charlotte. Secretly I think the squirrels are aiming for the boys. 

One day a game of tag brings us to the little gazebo at the southeast corner of the park. Curious, I look at the posted signs inside and discover a bit of history. It seems that the magnificent trees, including Hedge maple, Littleleaf linden, Greenspire linden, Ohio buckeye, European mountain ash, and Turkish filbert, were planted by the women of Longmont sometime in the 1890’s. They carried buckets of water from the St. Vrain river, about a mile away, to nurture the trees. This astounds me. I imagine the women, their thankless days of rearing children, doing laundry and other household tasks, meal preparation, and dressed in those long-sleeved, stiff-collared dresses and pinchy-toed black boots, toiling uphill from the river to the park with heavy buckets of water for the saplings. This, indeed, was a labor of love.

The definition of the expression “carry the water” is: to perform menial tasks for; to serve; to assist; to be forced by politics or pragmatism to endorse or promote a belief, individual, or organization that in reality one does not fully support. (From yourdictionary.com)

I think it’s time to overhaul the meaning of the phrase. To carry the water is a way of serving that is an honor and a privilege. I carried water to my daughter when she was young and not feeling well. I carried a bowl of water to my dog, her panting tongue halfway to her knees after chasing the ball long and hard. To a client in skilled nursing who couldn’t hold the glass on their own. To a runner heading out for the next difficult leg of an ultramarathon. 

For the women of Longmont, carrying the water might have been tedious and strenuous, but it was in service of something meaningful to them. Perhaps they had a vision of young saplings dressed in the bright new green of spring. Perhaps they knew that years in the future, the broad canopies of mature trees would provide shade for their grandchildren to have picnics. That the trees, in their stately and stalwart presence, would create in Thompson Park a home for critters to scamper and birds to sing, and a welcoming place for the entire community to spend time.

Carrying the water is something we do to nurture what we believe in. Actions we take for the people we care about, whether or not we know them. Efforts we make on behalf of our natural world and non-human inhabitants, whether or not we think it directly affects us. Carrying the water is humble service, an open-hearted, open-minded generosity for what truly counts. Think of all we can do with the water we carry.

​
Sources/Learn More
City of Longmont, Thompson Neighborhood Park:
https://longmontcolorado.gov/facility/thompson-neighborhood-park/

City of Longmont Forestry, Longmont Tree Tour: 
https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/f14b12797d9444e7b2557580b2cd0e25

Colorado Encyclopedia, Longmont Historic Districts:
https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/longmont-historic-districts

​Bridge: A structure linking two areas, allowing passage from one side to the other. A connection between two different things: cultures, ways of thinking. 

​I feel the vibration moving up the thick slab of snow beneath my feet, the gurgle and rush of water filling my ears. I’m suspended over Fish Creek on a bridge of January snow, a natural structure that will only last a few days while the nighttime temps drop low enough to solidify the white stuff. The creek pounds under me, and I’m both elated and in awe of the powerful reverberation.

The snow bridge allows me to move from one bank of emerald evergreens to the other, one piece of solid land to another, to continue my journey up the canyon. I pause a while on this snowy transition, appreciating the novelty and freedom its structure affords.

Bridges are on my mind today because of how they span two different things, connecting them. Whether it is a quaint bridge of stones in a small town or a marvel of engineering in San Francisco, crossing a bridge from the known, where we’ve been, is the opportunity to contemplate something different, something new, on the other side. The bridge heals a divide. It forms community, provides support, makes us stronger than when we are alone or isolated. It brings us together. 

Bridges are necessary and vital. When we take the first step onto the bridge and travel it, we already have begun to open our minds and our hearts.


I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
-From Bridge Over Troubled Water, by Simon & Garfunkle

​The chill wind touches my skin and I zip up my jacket to my chin. Charcoal clouds hover heavy above. I’m on my favorite trail, possibly for the last time this season. The damp air fills my nostrils, bringing the scent of fir and spruce, of dark brown leaves mashed into thick coffee mud. Foliage that was lush green and bright purple, white, yellow and pink blooms in the summer, then earthy orange and red and gold splendor in the fall, has now given way to naked trunks and branches. The starkness has its own beauty: trees and undergrowth unashamedly and unapologetically unadorned. What you see is what you get. 

I’m well into my time on the trail and suddenly am aware of the silence. There is no birdsong. I wonder if something has happened, if it is the wrong time of day, if the birds have given up and flown away. Then I see a golden beam break through the grey sky. With that show of sunlight, the song starts, birds trilling up and down scale, song that is light, melodic, and uplifting. 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
-Emily Dickinson