We cannot tire or give up. We owe it to the present and future generations of all species to rise up and walk!
-Wangari Maathai


Wangari Maathai planted a lot of trees. Over 50,000 of them to be exact. 

Professor Wangari Maathai was the founder of the Green Belt Movement in Kenya in 1977. She saw planting trees as a means to address issues women in many communities were facing: food scarcity, lengthier walks to gather wood for fuel, and streams drying up. The women could plant seedlings and earn a small amount of money, and the resulting trees would provide food, firewood and shade, and retain soil.

Eventually, the Green Belt Movement trained over 30,000 women in forestry and other skills, giving them agency and a way to manage the land in their communities. Tree nurseries were created to expand the availability of seedlings. Through small grants, Green Belt was able to pay the women when their seedlings survived for six months. 

Teaching women skills and giving them meaningful work went against cultural mores, and Professor Maathai was publicly ridiculed by members of parliament, verbally abused by the president, physically beaten by government police and hired thugs, and jailed several times. Yet, she persevered.

Early on in Green Belt’s formation, a huge order of seedlings arrived but Professor Maathai had nowhere to put them. She ended up filling her yard and house to the bursting point with the trees, much to her then-husband’s dismay. Later, when the Green Belt Movement was more established and had a large number of employees, the ruling government party Kenya African National Union or KANU, sent the police to kick Green Belt out of their office. Professor Maathai set up shop in her small home, cramming dozens of people into the tiny space. 

Professor Maathai fought for decades on behalf of women and planting trees. She served on political committees within Kenya, and was recognized globally for her work, serving as the United Nations Messenger of Peace and awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004. The very long list of her awards, achievements, and honorary degrees can be found here.

She believed that empowering people to take action within their communities, working for the common good, and to stand strong together, was the path to true democracy. Planting trees was an integral part of this work, and also was a way to promote peace and goodwill. 

Professor Maathai rallied people to plant trees to call attention to the planned destruction of Uhuru Park, a major city park in Nairobi. She also rallied a large group of women to protest political prisoners - this peaceful protest lasted for over a year. When KANU was secretly instigating violence between rural villages, Professor Maathai disguised herself and at great risk traveled to those communities to understand what was happening. She encouraged the people of battling villages to plant seedlings together as a means to mend the rifts between them. 

Wangari Maathai never gave up. By showing up to plant trees even in the face of violent opposition, by voicing the truth and encouraging people to speak up in the face of government injustice, and by teaching women the skills to benefit themselves and their communities, she planted seeds of dignity and of hope.

Sources/Learn More

• The Greenbelt Movement
• Unbowed, A Memoir, by Wangari Maathai

As the sun heads south, nights are longer than days, and the temps settle to the colder side of freezing, sleep becomes irresistible. When the darkness of 5pm rolls around, it feels like bedtime, and I long to be a bear so I can hibernate.

​The thing is, we humans simply don't have what it takes to hibernate. Recent research shows hibernation to be more complex than simply taking a nap, and that there are some promising implications for human health.

Toward summer’s end and all autumn long, bears consume roughly 20,000 calories a day to attain the necessary fat to get through their extended winter nap. In Colorado, black bears (which can be cinnamon, brown or even blonde - black is the species name) head to their dens sometime in November. Part of that hibernation signal has to do with their food being unavailable: their natural diet consists mainly of grasses, berries, fruits, nuts and plants, with insects and scavenged carcasses filling in the rest. 
Colorado Parks and Wildlife: Living with Wildlife - Bears  (scroll down for “Black Bears at a Glance info and resources)

During hibernation from approximately November to mid-March, bears do not eat or drink, and their heart and breathing rate slow to about 75% of normal. Unique to hibernating animals, their body temperature does not drop very much. 

We humans were not made to hibernate. Two obvious problems for us taking a months-long snooze: bone loss and brain dysfunction. Interestingly, scientists have found that bears turn off the genes associated with bone loss during hibernation. Regarding brain function, there are tau proteins that cause tangles in the brains of humans with Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. Hibernating bears (and squirrels) also accumulate tau proteins in their brains. When they come out of hibernation though, the tau proteins clear, and their brain function is up and running as they emerge into spring. The implications for humans regarding both brain function and bone loss are encouraging, and research continues.
Smithsonian Magazine Article: Why Amazing Discoveries About Bear Hibernation May Help Improve Human Health

So how’s a non-hibernating human to get through winter? With, among other things, a lot of light. Anything from a light therapy lamp to an alarm that mimics the sun rising, to getting outside first thing - the important part is to set circadian rhythms by exposure to light. Since darkness encourages the body’s production of melatonin, getting out for midday or afternoon walks can be beneficial for afternoon fatigue. Sticking with a sleep routine, eating nutritious foods, drinking plenty of water and cutting screen time at least an hour before bed are all suggestions we’ve heard before, but worth repeating. Getting solid shut-eye, and bolstering your health with good choices 80% of the time will set you (and me) up for enjoying winter instead of slogging through it.
New York Times Article: How Not to Feel Dead Tired This Winter
​
​Originally published November 2023

Look to the vast black sea above,
Stars glitter glacier-blue, 
four thousand years our elder,
heralds of our longest night.
Contemplate… 
fairy lights and candle glow,
talismans in the dark,
reminders of luminosity’s return. 

Winter solstice occurs this year on December 21 at 2:21AM Mountain Time. Also known as the hibernal solstice - “hibernal,” meaning of, characteristic of, or occurring in winter - it is when the sun has reached its farthest southern point over the earth. It marks the first day of winter for us, though we’ve been shoveling for weeks now, and the first day of summer in the southern hemisphere. 

Winter solstice is celebrated in different ways around the globe. There’s the Feast of Juul, where a large log (a Yule log) is burned in honor of  the Scandinavian god Thor, who will bring the light back to the people. In the Persian solstice festival of Yalda, the celebrants believe solstice night is when evil forces are the strongest, and so they stay up all night to welcome the rising of the sun the following day. 

For many of us, Stonehenge is the first place we think of for solstice celebrations. But it isn’t the only location by far. There is Newgrange in Ireland, built about 3200 BCE, predating Stonehenge by approximately 100 years. Newgrange consists of a mound with interior chambers, and was built to celebrate Alban Arthan, Welsh for “Light of Winter.” On winter solstice, the sun is at the exact position to fill the chambers with light. Catholic mission churches built during the Spanish colonial period also made use of the sun’s position on winter solstice to spotlight a particular object within the church.

Right here in the U.S. is Cahokia Mounds World Heritage and State Historic Site. It is the largest pre-Columbian site north of Mexico, had a population of roughly 20,000, and existed around 1050 - 1350 CE. There are about 80 mounds protected within the site, although there were more originally. The mounds were constructed to align with the sun on the solstices - one example of the indigenous understanding of the solar system. 

Sources/ Learn More

• Farmer’s Almanac: Winter Solstice
• PBS: Winter Solstice Significant in Cultures Across the World
• Cahokia Mounds World Heritage and State Historic Site
• Cahokia, Native American UNESCO world heritage site

​​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

​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

​Blue sky, orange and golden aspen shimmering in the breeze, trail underfoot carpeted with fallen leaves. It is easy and a delight to be very caught up in the beauty of our current autumn days. Once in a while, though, whether I’m on the mountain, near Fish Creek, or somewhere else, my eyes are magnetically pulled to the gargantuan boulders along the way. Some charcoal grey, some covered in lime lichen, some with patches of coral pink. They are strewn about randomly - how did they get there? 

About 1.8 million years ago, ice formed and began to sculpt the Rocky Mountain landscape.  Glaciers moved from mountain summits to valley floors. Along the way, these rivers of ice exerted immense pressure on the rock walls of the canyons. As water froze and thawed in cracks in the rock, this effectively allowed pressure from the moving glaciers to pull immense chunks away from the canyon wall in a process called plucking. The massive boulders moved with the flow of the ice and when the glaciers receded, the boulders were left behind, scattered through the landscape like a giant’s marble toss. In another process called abrasion, rocks embedded in the glacier ice scraped against canyon walls, leaving striations as evidence of the direction the glacier moved in.

Hiking alongside Fish Creek is one of my favorite things to do. The pioneers called it Fish Creek back in the day because, as you might guess, there were plenty of fish: whitefish and brook trout. Lower Fish Creek Falls, about 283 feet in height, was the result of two glaciers coming together, creating both a hanging valley and the spectacular falls. 

A few miles further on Fish Creek Trail, well beyond the second falls and getting towards Long Lake, the creek meanders through banks thick with brush. Down lower, close to the Sanctuary Trailhead, the honey-moss colored water gurgles its way over and around rocks, even through the frozen days of winter. The sound of the creek is hopeful: new life in the spring, the continued flow through the hot summer and sometimes dry autumn, and its resilient babble under thick snow even in the frozen days of winter. It seems incredible that almost 2 million years ago the powerful forces of alpine glacier, rock, and erosion forged this valley, now thick in conifer and aspen, a place of peace and flowing water.  

Sources

• Ave, Raymond, Backcountry Adventure Guide to the Mount Zirkel Wilderness, pgs 26-27. Mountain Jay Media LLC, 2003.
• White-Crane, Diane, Hiking the ‘Boat II, pgs 41, 46-47. Aspen Tree Press, 2003.

It’s early morning on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and Charlotte and I are navigating the washboard and potholes of Seedhouse Road, about an hour north of Steamboat. She’s home from college for a couple of days, and we’re taking advantage of the perfect weather to do a little backpacking on the Zirkel Circle. 

Seedhouse Road got its name from a 1910 U.S. Forest Service seed-processing building. Workers roasted cones from Engelmann spruce and lodgepole pine over fires in the seedhouse in order to release the seeds, which they then sold. The operation lasted only a year, but the name stuck. 

We pull into the Slavonia trailhead at the end of Seedhouse Road. The moniker Slavonia has always struck me as unusual; the area is named for the Slavonia Mine, established by four Slavics in 1904. What was mined there? Gold, silver, and copper were most commonly mined according to the records for Routt County, and you can see a more complete list of the various minerals recorded for the Slavonia region here.

Many prefer to do the Circle counter-clockwise; we opt for clockwise and head down the trail. The Zirkel Circle is an 11-mile loop in the Zirkel Wilderness. Although the loop doesn’t include summiting the 12,185’ Mt. Zirkel, (highest peak in Routt County, and named for German geologist Ferdinand Zirkel), it does offer water crossings, stellar vistas, and both Gilpin and Gold Creek Lakes. 
​
It is a beautiful blue-sky day, and the sun feels warm enough to start shedding layers early on. It's been over two decades since I last backpacked, evidenced by my pack’s lifeless bungee cord and my needing a YouTube refresher for how to even load the thing. 

Being out here with my pack feels familiar soon enough, and the time with Charlotte feels like a lark, and an adventure with the bonus of learning from some of her well-earned wilderness skills. Throughout high school she’d taken advantage of dual-enrollment with the local Colorado Mountain College for math and science, but in her senior year she took part in several field classes, including Desert Orientation, Snow Orientation, and Canyon Orientation. Being out there for days and nights at a time, and learning from the best, has resulted in some serious experience and know-how for Charlotte.  

We reach the turquoise-hued Gilpin Lake, plunked down between sharply angled peaks, and then hoof it up and over the 11,000+-foot saddle to make camp on the other side. Finding a sheltered little spot in the trees, overlooking a huge meadow with Gold Creek merrily gurgling through it, we pitch camp and eat lunch. Then we use our math and shot-put skills to rig the food bag on a high branch. It takes a while but, satisfied with our bear-proofing, we head out for a couple hours of exploration.

We follow Gold Creek trail east and then north, which is the trail to take if you plan to climb Mt. Zirkel by way of Red Dirt Pass. We see no other people on this part of the trail, and enjoy the solitude as the loop trail is so popular. The wind blows down the valley through the long grasses. Red Dirt Pass glows scarlet in the afternoon sun. Then we step over something odd on the trail - a long rusted pipe that disappears up into the ridge of trees to the west. A little further we catch sight of some log cabin ruins, with a metal bed frame and the remains of box springs sticking up above the decomposing cabin walls.

I am mystified. We are at 10,000 feet, out in the middle of nowhere - Mt. Zirkel to the north, Red Dirt Pass to the northeast, and here is this cabin with its decorative, heavy, bed frame. What self-respecting miner would bother hauling a bed frame up here? It is hard to imagine a miner returning after a long day of hard work to enjoy the decorative bed - more likely they preferred a plain old bottle. 

It turns out this is the site of the Slavonia Mining Camp. Just west of where we stand gawking at the bed frame is a ridge that lies to the east of Gilpin Lake. The Slavonia Mine is located at the base of this ridge. The old pipe we’d stepped over on the trail runs all the way up to the mine, most likely used to drain off excess water when the mine was in operation. I notice another cabin a few hundred yards away, more intact, and with a nice fire ring near it. This area is often used by backpackers as their campsite before summiting Mt. Zirkel. Standing in the quiet, the breeze blowing through the evergreens bordering the cabin remains, the place feels lonely, and a bit…spooky. You couldn’t pay me to stay the night here.

I notice Charlotte smiling and she points out the two pine martens playing peekaboo with her. Their endearing heart-shaped faces watch her inquisitively before they run off. The sun is getting low, and it is time for us to head back to our own camp for a warm dinner and maybe a game of Crazy 8s in the tent before snuggling into our sleeping bags, content with a day well-spent.

Resources/Learn More

• The Diggings: USGS Historic Mining Records
• Steamboat Pilot article: The Mighty Zirkel: Take a Hike to the Tallest Point in Routt County
• Steamboat Pilot article: Wilderness Wanderings: Mining Clues Remain in Zirkel Wilderness

Books:

• Ave, Raymond, Backcountry Adventure Guide to the Mount Zirkel Wilderness. Mountain Jay Media LLC, 2003.
• Thompson, Jay and Therese, Hiker’s Guide to the Mount Zirkel Wilderness Area. Pruett Publishing Company,1992.
• White-Crane, Diane, Hiking the ‘Boat II. Aspen Tree Press, 2003.

​Autumn. I both dread that it means the end of summer, and marvel at the rich and varied shades that seemingly deepen by the minute. Bright gold trees, mahogany shrubs, orange berries, amongst deep green conifer and bluest of blue skies. Each day feels like a staving off winter for another 24 hours.

There are some who refer to taking in this glory as “leaf peeping.” I detest that term, actually. Whether you are strolling along the Yampa Core Trail, out for a mountain hike, a long bike ride or a paddle, there is an engagement with the beauty all around that “peeping” doesn’t even come close to describing. The term “leaf-peeper” first showed up in print in 1965 in Vermont. Some folks seem to do just fine with the term, others consider it insulting and worse, as “peeping” conjures voyeuristic tendencies. See Mental Floss: A Brief History of Leaf-Peeping. 

The one thing most are in agreement with though, is that this time of year has its own magnificence, perhaps because, at least in the mountains, it is almost as fleeting as the summer. A clump of aspen becomes more incandescently golden by the day, and then a few strong gusts toss that gold to the ground. Or a shrub, foliage ripening to a rich cabernet, is halted by a snow-storm, and the whole thing shrivels and turns black. So every day with fall’s palette feels like a gift. 

So I propose that the term leaf-peeping be struck from use. Suggested phrases: full-fledged fall gawking, awe-struck ambling, or simply reveling in the incomparable Mother Nature. Especially in the last few days in Steamboat, I see people looking around in wonder, and hear people talking about their experience of the unparalleled color. It is truly an incredible season.

As for how and why leaves change color, check out my post the Fluctuating Foliage of Fall to learn. 

​You’ve probably never heard of Elzada Clover or Lois Jotter. But maybe it's time you should. 

Brave the Wild River by Melissa L. Sevigny, is the story of how these two intrepid botanists set out to map the plant life of the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. The 43-day whitewater journey was a harrowing adventure, but their resulting work continues to influence science today, and has led to greater awareness and protection of that river ecosystem. 

In 1938, the two women set off from Green River, Utah, with four men and three small wooden boats: the Botany, the Wen, and the Mexican Hat. Hailing from University of Michigan, Clover was a 42-year-old botany instructor, and assistant curator of the botanical gardens, and Jotter a 24-year-old graduate student working on her PhD. 

The Colorado was considered to be an unruly and dangerous river, where many had died in the attempt to run it. The news reports of the time focused on the novelty of women on the river, and the general consensus that women did not belong on that river. Rather than covering the botanical intent of the trip, reporters drummed up the perils of the Colorado, and wrote about the women applying their make-up and cooking for the men

It is true that Clover and Jotter were up every morning well before the men. They did cook breakfast, and they did apply powder and lipstick. But their time was also spent gathering plant specimens. The plant gathering was a tedious process. They needed to get the entire plant, including root, stem, leaf and flower. The specimens were flattened and arranged carefully and placed in a plant press, consisting of layers of newspaper and thin wood strips. This was all carefully strapped down. For cacti, the pulp had to be scooped out, and the specimen laid just-so to preserve the spines. From their work, four new cacti were identified. 

After hunting plants up steep climbs in the desert heat, they’d go run some serious rapids. The women were not allowed to paddle the rapids (thank goodness that’s changed: currently women make up roughly one-third of Grand Canyon river guides). Sometimes the boats would go through the turbulent water blunt stern-first. Sometimes they’d line the boats - difficult work to climb over boulders on-shore while keeping the boat on a line and walking it down in order to skirt the more burly rapids. 

Ultimately the crew, with a few changes in personnel, floated into Lake Mead alive and well. Clover and Jotter’s work made it back to the University of Michigan, and the two continued to contribute to the field of botany for the rest of their lives. 

In 1994, Jotter made another trip down the Colorado with a group of scientists and other “Old Timers” who’d studied the river ecology prior to the construction of Glen Canyon Dam and the creation of Lake Powell. Their observations led to the 1996 policy of the dam releasing large amounts of water in order to stimulate spring river surge and restore some of the river life to the way it was.

Though Clover and Jotter are not household names, their willingness to literally risk their lives to gather botanical information is a fascinating story, and their work has impacted anyone who recreates in or cares about the Colorado River.  

Just upstream from Lake Powell, at the confluence of the Green and Colorado, begins a 41-mile river section known as Cataract Canyon. It was so-named by Powell because of the canyon’s 14 miles of gnarly rapids - so gnarly in fact that Powell and his men did not run a single one of those rapids. When Glen Canyon Dam was built, and Lake Powell filled, over half of Cataract Canyon became impounded, slow water. In recent years, as the water level in Lake Powell has dropped due to overuse and evaporation and drought, the impounded water in Cataract Canyon is diminishing, and is starting to flow again. This has also resulted in some side canyons reemerging. For river runners familiar with this area, two of the side canyons are affectionately known as Clover Canyon and Jotter Canyon, within a stretch known as Botany Aisle. 

Learn More/Sources
The primary source for this blog post.
Brave the Wild River by Melissa L. Sevigny

A short version of the story of Clover and Jotter, with some terrific photos.
University of Michigan Heritage Project: River Rat

American Rivers: Changes in Cataract Canyon