Gold Rush

I hadn't done real fall colors photography in a couple of years. Lizard and I were able to get a few shots on the way home from his mom's a couple of times, but, generally speaking, he wasn't able to tolerate road trips for the last two to three years.

I wanted to try to get at least a few shots this year. But every time I set a goal to go up into the high country, I would break down in tears because I didn't want to go without him.

I finally worked up the courage to go last week, and I actually had a fairly good time. I can't wait to go back up into the mountains.

Most of the color was gone, but I got a couple of good shots. And I set a goal to hike the last trail Lizard had set a goal to hike. We were going to do it together this fall. Next time I go up, I'm going to tackle that trail to see where it goes. I may not make it to the top of whatever mountain it ascends, but I can hike and have a good time and possibly even get some good photos while I try to train myself to breathe at altitude again.

For this brief trip, I hiked across the boardwalk that leads to the 14er Bierstadt trail. Lizard and I had gone as far as he was able to go on the boardwalk about three or four years ago. There were some wonderful memories along the way, and I pretended to talk to him as I climbed.

I wanted to get a shot of the 14er reflecting in the unnamed beaver ponds at the edge of the boardwalk. I'd just bought new hiking boots because the waterproof pair I'd bought in 2020 had begun wearing a blister on the back of my left heel the week before. This was my first hike in the new shoes. Second day wearing them, actually.

Just as I got close to the edge of the water, I suddenly postholed nearly thigh deep into a mucky, black sinkhole. It took me quite a while to get myself out of the literal mess I'd gotten myself into. I hadn't told anyone where I was going. I was alone. It was late in the day; most hikers had already returned to their cars. There was no signal on my phone, but, I managed to keep both my phone (which was in my pants pocket) and my camera dry.

I was afraid I was going to have to holler for help. And hope someone might be able to hear me. I was really stuck. It reminded me of the day Lizard and I traversed this very same trail in winter on snowshoes the year after my emergency back surgery. I was still working my strength back up, and I was unable to extract myself from a similar posthole, possibly in very near the same place but in deep, soft snow. Lizard had to rescue me.

I was finally able to get one leg moving, which enabled me to break free of the muck. Oh, was it nasty!!! But I got out. I asked Lizard if he had helped me. And I had a pretty good chuckle, imagining him laughing with me as I tried to scrape the black sludge off my pants and my new hiking boots. It was just windy enough to dry my jeans out by the time I returned to my car, so, I wasn't freezing all the way home. And EVERYTHING got a good wash, including my new shoes!

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Healing Art

I was looking in my journal for the day I was out in the garden doing something – I couldn't remember what – when I noticed a hummingbird sipping from my hibiscus just inches from me. I had my phone in my pocket and was able to snap two shots – that's all – before the hummer became annoyed and flew away.

Turned out I didn't write about it that day. Not in my journal, and not in my daily letter to Lizard. I was pretty bummed. However, I did learn this same thing had happened four years ago, nearly to the day, and I got better photos that day. I was able to sneak away and grab the good camera and shoot more. The hummingbird returned a few times throughout the day, and I got a few photos I loved.

The hummers have gone south now. I think the goldfinches have left, too. I enjoy shooting them on my sunflowers. I really wanted to get a photo of one in front of one of my red sunflowers, but I could never get in just the right position for it to work without scaring them away.

I got a few butterfly shots this year, too. Not as many as I would have liked. But, considering the emotions I've experienced this summer, I guess it's good that I'm relearning how to use my camera and that I'm using it. I can hardly wait for snowflake photography.

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An Early Thanksgiving

The morning after the recent lunar eclipse, I had planned to get up early, shoot the sunrise, then take a bicycle ride in search of wildlife to photograph. The eclipse was past what I've been trying to keep as a steady bedtime. Meaning, I got to bed LATE. After seven years of mostly sleepless nights (and even before Parkinson's), attempting to regulate my sleep patterns this last few months has been a bit of a challenge. I decided not to take my sleep aid the night of the eclipse so I might still be able to get up on time for the sunrise.

I woke ten minutes before the alarm went off, and I read scriptures until my daily devotional chimed. I had a 529-day streak of doing it every single morning before Lizard went into the hospital. I tried to keep up with it that week but apparently floundered a little. My streak as of this writing now stands at 130 days, which goes back to the day after he died.

Every once in a while, the daily devotional, which is centered on the Old Testament this year, really gets me. So many of the devotionals are so applicable to what I'm going through at that very moment. I often feel as if God Himself has plucked that particular verse that very day to prove to me He is still istening and still loving.

The devotional always links to another applicable and related scripture, as well as another article or General Conference talk that delves deeper into the principle being taught. I used to read both every single day. I was extremely spotty the last six weeks of Lizard's life because the Parkinson's had become so severe and sleep for both of us had become so fleeting. In the very wee hours of the morning, I set the goal to read and truly study both again each and every day while I waited for hours for the coroner to arrive and pronounce Lizard's passing official.

The morning after the most recent lunar eclipse, the verse of the day was Psalm 69:16. "Turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies." The linked scripture was 2 Samuel 22:2-3. "And he said, The LORD is my rock, and my deliverer; The God of my rock; in him will I trust, he is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my saviour; thou savest me from violence."

The linked article broke me. I erupted into a fountain of tears to rival Episode 54 at Kilauea a couple of days earlier.

I've been writing a letter to Lizard every day since about ten days after he died. I don't know if he can hear me when I talk to him. I don't know if he stands over my shoulder as I write to him. I don't know if he will ever be able to read what I write. But my pretended continued communication helps me feel connected to him, especially when I am missing him more than normal. I'm sharing a few excerpts I wrote to him the day after the most recent lunar eclipse because I think it best expresses what I wanted to share with you today.

Today's devotional broke me. Again. I think I'm doing better and healing, then something comes out of nowhere and topples me again. The devotional featured a short video message from a woman whose husband confiscated all their money and left the country. I thought of my first husband, who hurt me so deeply, I almost didn't trust you when we first met. But then I thought of you. I am so blessed to have you as my eternal companion. You are so kind and so sensitive, and you would never knowingly do anything to hurt me. Ever. That was such a tender mercy for me to realize.

The devotional also linked to a 10-year-old article by a woman with MS. I know a lot about MS because of all our efforts to fight the disease for those who couldn't before you were diagnosed with something equally as bad. If not worse.

I wondered as she disclosed her diagnosis if she is even still alive now. Her symptoms were severe when she was first diagnosed. As we both may recall, being diagnosed with MS is not always easy or fast. Hers seemed to come on like gangbusters, just like your Parkinson's, and I continually thought of you as I read on.

She received a priesthood blessing assuring her God would not give her any trial that would not be for her benefit. That absolutely broke me. At first, all I could think about was your final week, and how in the world could that possibly have been for my good? I cried and cried. Then, my thoughts went to you. Even before I was able to pick up my phone to finish reading her story, I thought about how much you suffered. Initially, I questioned God. How could that have been for your good?

I pretty quickly turned it around to being thankful you are no longer suffering and are whole now. That you were able to do so much in your life before it was prematurely taken from you. Almost like a thief in the night.

I remembered how you were always so good-natured and filled with loving kindness (which I've been studying a lot this week in Psalms), even when things got really bad. There were moments when you were not you, and there were too many times when you didn't recognize me. But just like the kindness you continually tried to show the homeless people you thought had commandeered our house, you tried to be kind to me, and you were almost always considerate of my needs. Because that's who you are. Even in extreme duress.

It helped me love you more. Sometimes, I don't think that's even possible. My heart is so full of you, there's no way my love for you could grow any bigger. But it does. All the time. Just like it did this morning.

I still haven't finished reading the article yet, and I've got so many things I need to get done this morning before it gets too hot. But I couldn't go any further without letting you know how grateful I am for you, how much my love for you keeps growing, and that even though I still have moments of intense pain, I know it's because we have such intense love. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

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Lavender Wake-Up

I began Lizard's mini lavender farm in 2021. I tried to extend it at least a bit each year, but then Parkinson's limited his access it. I had to spend a year's worth of lavender expansion budget on rock stairs to enable him to climb into the garden. Then he lost the ability to balance on slopes...

This year we decided to dive into the apple trees we'd wanted since the day we bought the house, technically ending the mini lavender farm expansion. I was beginning to realize Lizard would not be able to care for his lavender garden anymore, and then, the end came so quickly, I truly was not prepared. Emotionally, spiritually, physically, the works.

My first re-visit to the sun-baked mini lavender farm a week or so after the Celebration of Life, my initial thought and reaction was, "What's the point?" What would it matter if I let it die? He was no longer here. It was no longer his lavender. I didn't know if I would be able to hold onto the home by myself. (I'm still not entirely sure I can, but I know I should not make that decision before the one-year mark.)

A couple of weeks later, I decided the lavender farm isn't going to take care of itself, and Lizard would not want me to let it die, so I'd best try to revive it. Thank heavens lavender is drought-tolerant.

I replaced two of the lavender plants that didn't make it through the winter with home improvement center lavender and the third with the only home-grown-from-seed lavender tall enough to survive transplanting. That was back in May. I'm proud to say all three are still going strong, as is the rest of the mini lavender farm. (And the other two home-grown from seed lavender are finally tall enough to transplant, but I'm waiting until fall.)

The entire mini lavender farm is in need of new and fresh mulch, as well as and some rock border replacement, thanks to the local wildlife. The new apple trees also are doing well, although I have yet to finish the landscaping around them because it's just been too darned hot.

We bought a mature wisteria and a blueberry bush when we bought the apple trees. The wisteria found the pergola all by itself. I haven't had to train it or the mourning (pun intended) glories I planted at the base. They are healthily climbing and doing their best to bring me daily cheer.

The third and final clematis didn't survive our July heat dome, and I'm throwing in the towel on clematis. No clematis on this property has survived more than one year in 18 years, so I give up. Mourning glories and wisteria will suffice for the shade I hope they will produce within the next couple of years. The ivy that came with the house didn't survive the transplanting to the pergola, even though everything I've read says ivy is extremely easy to root. There's always the Virginia creeper that seems to grow wild everywhere here...

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed some of the leaves on the wisteria were turning yellow. My heart sank. I googled and learned I need to mulch the clematis in this heat. I couldn't afford to buy more mulch, and the lavender needed to be pruned, so, I decided to use the lavender trimmings as mulch.

I hate cutting the lavender because it feels like I'm killing it. (It's actually necessary, but it's a mindset thing for me.) And yet I LOVE cutting the lavender because the smell is SO incredible. Now when I water my wisteria, I'm overcome by the wonderful aroma of lavender. And the wisteria looks healthier!!!

A few years ago, I generated a bunch of AI images of bears in a lavender field because I'd missed my award-winning shot. AI has improved a bit since then, so, last week I tried to generate new AI interpretations of a bear in Lizard's mini lavender farm. I'm tickled with the new images. But I'd rather have real photos of bears in Lizard's lavender.

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Leaping Lizards

(affiliate links to my designs)

A week or so after Lizard passed, one of my friends told me I would find him when I began doing again the things we loved. Another friend told me to watch for signs that he might be near.

I will be candid. I have not heard or seen Lizard or felt him near. I wish I could, but I also realize my task might be to walk by faith. And I'm doing the best I can. Yet, I have looked, listened and paused quite frequently in search of any kind of sign he might be near. I'm kind of to the point that I don't actively search for him anymore because it's too disappointing. I now try to be grateful for the time we had, strengthen my faith and live worthily that I can be with both him and my Savior again one day.

I saw lizards in Lizard's mother's backyard on Mother's Day. That was an annual thing for the last five years, I think. We began making Mother's Day trips over there as soon as it was safe to travel again after we were all vaccinated. The trauma was still so fresh this Mother's Day, seeing the tiny little lizards doing their pushups made both Lizard's mom and me cry. The little lizards are not unusual for her. She sees lizards about nine or ten months out of the year.

I first got back on my bike about six weeks after Lizard passed. It took that long. And I didn't really want to ride then. But I had no choice, unless I Ubered, which I didn't want to do. I was dropping off my car for routine maintenance, and I didn't want an Uber charge on top of whatever the car was going to cost. So, I rode my bike home from the shop. In the rain. I cried almost the entire way. I told everyone who asked that the sky cried with me the whole way.

I'm really thankful now that I took that first ride. It enabled me to get back on my bike. I'm typically riding twice a week now. I've been up Waterton several times. I've seen some great wildlife. But no lizards. Which is not typical. (And no bears, which is just my extreme wishful thinking...)

Until last week. My sister-in-law has been riding with me at least every other week, just to get me back on my bike, but she wasn't able to ride that day. So, I went alone. We had planned to do a different trail than either of us had ever done, but because I was going to be on my own, I decided to ride up Waterton.

I saw nothing on the way up, which isn't that unusual. On the way down, I passed a baby snake in the middle of the road. I circled around for a photo, then used my front bike tire to encourage it to get out of the middle of the road so it would not become a pancake under someone else's wheels.

Suddenly, a very large lizard charged right at both me and the snake!!! The lizard was a little bigger than the snake. I thought I was in for a showdown! I was so shocked, I didn't even think to get the camera ready.

I didn't know who was going to eat who! They were staring at each other, and the lizard kept looking at me, then looking at the snake. Finally, after just a few seconds, the lizard scampered off behind me.

I looked it up when I got home. Snakes will occasionally eat lizards, and lizards will sometimes eat small snakes. That was just fascinating to me. It still is, really. I've never seen anything like that before, and I feel what I witnessed was better than a documentary, even though nothing happened. Just to see two completely different species face off like that!

After I got the baby snake safely across the road (after one cyclist who didn't see it nearly did run over it caused it to jump about two feet in the air... I'd never seen anything like that before, either), I asked Lizard out loud if this means he was there with me. I felt kind of bubbly inside.

All the rest of the way down the canyon, I kept wondering if the lizard was a sign.

At the bottom of the canyon, another large lizard ran across the road right in front of me. I wondered aloud again if this was a sign. Was my Lizard with me? Did he know I was thinking of him?

Then, out of nowhere, five planes flew overhead in formation. Like they were practicing for an air show. On a Tuesday! There were no air shows I knew of. (I did learn Colorado's 150th birthday was last Saturday, so perhaps they were practicing for that.) Lizard would have been overjoyed!!!

I asked God without praying. I think I said something like, "That has to be a sign. Lizard would have loved to see that. He HAS to be near."

I was still happy inside, so I'm going to believe Lizard either knew what I was doing or knew I was thinking of him. He knows I'm trying hard, and he knows I'm trying to be more faithful, and that makes me feel so good.

This week I realized I waited 45 years to find my Lizard. I can't wait to see him again, but I know from experience, I can wait. He was worth every minute of waiting 21 years ago, and he's worth waiting for now.

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