the wind and the ashes

oklahoma has a reputation for being flat, so much so that any mound protruding above the surrounding terrain by as much as a few hundred feet gets designated a mountain. laughable, really. but western kansas and far eastern colorado are flatter still, though the vast emptiness of it takes on a beauty all it's own. the 400-mile drive from salina to denver is actually an imperceptible 4000 foot climb, and denver lays claim to the cliche of being the "mile-high city" at 5280 feet above sea level. the last hundred miles or so is a series of increasingly dramatic hints of what you are about to discover. the flat plains begin to roll, here and there raw rock is shoved up through the grass. when you get within 30 miles of denver, you begin to see what could be mistaken as dark blue rain clouds on the horizon. the closer you get, though, the more distinct the outlines become, the peaks more pronounced. unlike the scattered petite bumps of oklahoma, these peaks routinely reach 10,000 feet, some greater than 12,000. the dark blue shades give way to greys and greens, and white caps on the higher summits. too numerous to count, they extend hundreds of miles to the north and to the south. the enormity of this mountain range exceeds comprehension. you have discovered the Rocky Mountains, or more simply, the Rockies.

if you are fortunate enough to hike in this majestic range, you will experience a smallness of self as you take in the beauty. slopes of shale give rise to granite faces. fragrant, towering pines shade soft dirt paths, leading you beside flowered meadows. as you climb, the heat of the valley gives way to cool, crisp air higher up. you cross streams, finding the water crystal clear, clean, cold, and you drink of it. leaving beaver ponds and grassy meadows behind, the climb becomes steeper. the meandering path becomes an endless series of switchbacks with grueling, relentless intent on scaling the unavoidable mountainside. the air becomes thin, and it surprises you that every fifty steps you need to stop for breath. finally the path curves to the right and evens out onto a high grassy plateau; you have climbed higher than the elevation at which trees can grow. you camp overnight beside a small lake at 12,000 feet.

beyond the lake is tomorrow's climb, a 500 foot ascent to cross the continental divide. from where you are, it looks impassable, a boulder strewn slope with no obvious path. but tiny specks of color halfway up tell you that a team of outfitters are traversing a path as you watch from below. the path is there, marked with small piles of rocks left by those who have gone before to tell you that the impossible is possible; look closely and step carefully. so steep is the climb, so thin is the air that every ten steps requires a pause for breath. unlike the the dirt paths below that drew you along easily, this path requires constant attention. find the next marker, pick your path to it, test each step before putting your full weight on it. finally, a gentle turn to the left, and a snow bank meets you at the saddle. you are standing on the continental divide, and the view is tremendous. the hard work has been done, 4 days of uphill climbing, your pack at it's heaviest, the air getting thinner with each step. from here the hike down is easy by comparision, but it can wait. you take your time and enjoy the view.


for me though, there would be no hiking this trip, and no solitude. we entered the Rockies going southwest on 285 toward jefferson and fairplay. it's a nice drive, maybe not as breathtaking as going north through golden and central city. but the highway winds through the mountains, trees and red rock slopes line the way, and white water rapids parallel the road. but the best part comes near the end of the hour-and-a-half drive when the highway makes a horseshoe bend. as the road curves to the right, suddenly a beautiful green valley opens up. continuing around the curve, the panorama overwhelms the senses. maybe the plains are too deeply a part of my soul, but to me that valley is even more beautiful than the mountains that surround it. here, it was easy to forget that there was even a world "out there".


the road dropped down into the valley. at jefferson we turned east and after a short drive found the entrance to my cousin frankie's ranch. she and her husband were expecting us. jc greeted us first; he had been in the shop working on a tractor. we met frankie in the house where she was just a little panicked that we were a little early and she was still frying chicken. her hair was completely white. she now reminded me of her mom, my aunt betty, who had always been sweet, and whom the kids had fallen in love with the one time they got to meet her. but other memories were unreliable. the stairs were not where or how i remembered them. i could not find the salt and pepper shakers made in the fashion of a pair of outhouses. as a boy my older brother jimmy had duped me into believing that the 's' and 'p' stood for...well, something other than salt and pepper.


we sat and drank tea, and visited. frankie finished cooking, all the while telling us stories about the family. as we ate, the conversation included both the good and the bad memories of her childhood, and ours too. after the talk began to wind down, we agreed that it was time. just north of the ranch buildings was a large hill. some climbed it, the rest of us piled into the back of frankie's pickup and rode up the bumpy slope to the top. the hilltop was the highest point in the valley, and from it mountains could be seen in every direction. silver heels and baldy to the southwest, the twins to the northeast, many others whose names i forget. some with snow, most without. a gentle breeze was blowing from the west.


my sister charlie brought the small box out and we formed a circle and had a short prayer, mostly saying we had done the best we could, sorry it couldn't have been more. then she opened the box and handed it to evy, because she was the oldest. we took turns, oldest to youngest, then denny who had made the promise, then nephews, then niece. reach into the box and cup a handful of ashes, say a silent prayer of goodbye, then toss the ashes high into the sky. the breeze did the rest. my sisters all cried, and denny did too. the fact that i didn't gives me pause to wonder, what am i? but i didn't try to force tears; if they ever do come, it will be in their own time.


jc and frankie helped evy set some cut flowers into the rocky hilltop, knowing they wouldn't last long. they looked out of place among the indian paintbrush. still, it was the only marker mom would ever have. uncle bob's ashes were scattered in the saddle between the twins, so now she would be close to him. cancer had taken him long ago, and when mom was diagnosed she chose not to fight it, as if it was her ticket out.


sometimes we do out of obligation, and sometimes we refuse to do for want of a better reason. but time does not relent. we grow old. those we ought to have loved, ought to have mended hearts with, they pass on. they leave us with memories if we are lucky, regrets if we are not so lucky, but always with an empty place that waits to be filled.