Casting For Recovery - Woods of Maine

On a brilliantly clear weekend in August, 2010 I attended a three day retreat for women who are thriving despite the harsh treatments for breast cancer. This retreat occurs in many states throughout America. They are called Casting For Recovery. The one I participated in was held in Lynchtown, Me. I hope the area was named for a person; not historically a place where people were hanged. At any rate, the camp, Bosebuck Camp lies in the depth of the Maine woods on the extreme western border of Maine. Our cabins are set very near the banks of Parmachenee Lake. Our hosts, the Bosebuck Camp owners, and retreat staff members treated us with love, respect, and honor. The food was scrumptious! We attended group meetings where we were able to share how having cancer has changed us and what we have learned from this scary yet, in some ways, Holy experience. We were taught two casting types and fly knot styles, about wet and dry flies, and stages of bug evolution. On Sunday morning, Maggie, our spiritual guide led us in a magical soul journey on the tip of the dock where loons sang and the morning mist shrouded us. We read poetry, picked up a stone that spoke to us, placing into it our fears, then tossing that fear, releasing it from us, into the lake. I felt honored when Maggie invited me to lead the women in singing an ancient spiritual created and sung by slaves in their own misery decades ago, My Lord What A Morning. And what a morning it was! That afternoon expert male fishing guides joined us. One sweet young man tied my fly on and even did the surgeon's knot I'd learned the night before. Some of our female staff are also expert fishing guides. They took us to a river where rapids spit through boulders and slid into pools where fish rested on their way to the spawning grounds in which they were born. This stretch of water is one of the few bodies of water not controlled by the Inland Waters Assoc. In fact, President Eisenhower fished here in 1954. I was ten then. Not wanting to hurt the fish, we used barbless hooks and caught and released the water Beings. Eight fish wanted my fly, only one was a Brook Trout, the others were Chub, a bottom-feeder. My guide, Sheri, a retired surgeon, cheered me on and taught me much about fly fishing. It is amazing how this experience helped me feel stronger and more self-assured. The act of casting a very long line above and behind one's head is a lesson in trust and paying attention to one's body, telling my arm to wait (even counting to three) as the line snapped behind my head, so I knew when to snap it forward again. I am ever grateful to the wonderful people who took the time and patience to make this retreat a powerful healing.

The long road home

The way back through the midwest was trying, again. I'd either poisoned myself by eating unrefrigerated string cheese for a midnight snack or picked up a virus along my journeys. Either of those, mixed with extreme heat in the mid-western states made me sicker than I'd wanted to be. Somewhere in Ill., with more threats of tornados in the air, I had to lie down on my van bed. After a good sleep of about an hour, I phoned the Palmers in Mansfield, OH, trying to make sense of when they could expect me the next day. Fever dulled my senses, and I was further from them than I'd thought. Another motel stay was in order.

When I arrived at Chris and Robin's, I had to immediately sleep again and all the next day. Robin heated up my request of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Gradually, my body healed and we were able to share some good laughs like we're known to do.

Now, the following wildlife report requires a warning of possible offensive material. I must report it, though, because out of all my wildlife observations, one in a flower pot hanging under the Palmer's roof overhang was the most incredible and memorable and disgusting. Here it is!

Standing at Robin's kitchen sink, the first morning I felt well, I called to Robin, "Oh, look the mamma Robin is cleaning out the babies' nest. OOh, look she's eating it. Ooooh, my Gosh, Robin look at this." We stood, mouths wide-aghast as we watched each tiny, nude chick raise it's downy bottom into the air, squeeze out a timely blob of birdie poop, as it's OCD mother ever so gently and politely gobbled it up so it would never hit the nest floor. This was recycling at it's best, or worst - you decide.

So, I arrived home in Franklin, ME on June 29th, I think (still time disoriented). It was a great ride! But home is home, and one's own bed is one's real bed. The sunsets and sunrises will look a bit different and the big dipper will be on it's side instead of flat w/the horizon and filled with the Milky Way. There are no Elk or Grizzly bears here, but before I rise from my familiar and cozy bed, a loons laughs hysterically as it flies over my roof, and a black bear has roamed the lane in the night, a red fox yips at dusk, and coyotes with wolf blood awaken me at 4 a.m. with the chatter of excitement over a kill for her pups.

The smell of sweetgrass and fir mingle with the Holy ions of sea air, and I am home.

Goodbye Old Paint

My original plan, after leaving Jackson was to return to Sheridan, WY, await two of Patti Atkins's friends to arrive in July, and lead a Croning Ceremony for Patti. Unfortunately, I was spent and could only invision myself heading home to Maine. Waiting two more weeks was unthinkable at this time. Patti was disappointed but said she understood my decision. So on June 26th, or so (time and dates eluded me on the road), I left Gerry Amadon and Patti Reilly's lovely home that sits beneath the Tetons in Wilson, Wy and Gayle and Lenny Francis headed north for their home in Billings, MT.

I headed northeast, through Togwotee Pass, southeastward through Dubois, Lander, and Rawlins to Interstate 80, just west of Laramie, WY. I had the Wind River Range to my right until Lander. I stopped at a prairie museum, which had a great collection of stone artifacts - my heart sang. There were great outcroppings of red rock formations along the way (see above). Just west of Laramie, in the Medicine Bow Mtns., I camped at a state park and slept among the rock people, that surrounded the camps. I expected to see a Mountain Lion; didn't even hear one. The next morning light had a pink cast, being reflected off the families of rock. I stopped at a pawn shop the next day and admired his rock collection. The shop keeper asked, "Are you a rockie?" I said yes to what I think he meant to be a rock enthusiast. He told me explicit directions of where to find what he called pebble agate. I acted like I knew what that was, to prove my rockie status. My friend in Sheridan had shown me a boulder in her garden by that name. As I drove east looking for the summit of Beaver Ridge (there were so many ridges how would I know) and a sign that would read something like Canadasis. This was after many, many miles of driving through desolate, sage covered dirt cattle ranges. I began to think I'd been hoodwinked (where'd that saying come from?), when, sure enough there to my left was a wooden sign pointing to Cadice Lake. I was to look for a "stream" that ran under the road. Well, the road was dirt, the stream was a gutter, the lake was a nearly dried up water hole, and the agates that were supposed to be lining the road, right there, seemed invisible. I picked up what I thought might be nearly formed agates. They didn't look at all like pebbles. But, I saw more antelope and horses; and I made it back to the main road without being stampeded by cattle, bitten by a rattler, or lassooed by a cowgirl.

I'd really intended to visit the University of Wyoming archeological museum in Laramie the next day, but I got on the road by 6 a.m. and into Laramie way too early to wait around. So, Eastward I continued.

Spotted Horse Ranch Reunion

Exactly 43 years ago, in the spring and summer of 1967, I, Jerry Amadon from Mass., Gayle Boucher of Billings, MT, and Leonard Francis of Saratoga, WY serendipitously landed by the banks of the Hoback River and at the foot of Beaver Mtn, in Jackson Hole, WY. Each has their own story of what brought them here, you'll have to wait for my book to be published about it (once I get it written). This year, 2010, we all met in Jackson to reminisce; recalling how Lenny jumped into the turpid river to save a lost lamb and how Gayle nursed it, how Jerry helped save Dick Bess's life when their raft turned over in the Hoback's icy spring water, how Dian kept us all sane, and how I sang The Hills of Old Wyoming over and over again for the dudes in the ranch bar and lounge. There is so much else to tell so, really, keep an eye out for my book later.

Our reunion was a gift to us all. Dick and Dian are still spunky at 80 and 82. They've been together since they were kids, 15 and 17; though Dian winks at me when she says, pretending she's saying it on the sly, "We had our ups and downs." Gayle and Lenny returned to the ranch the next year 1968, not knowing the other would be there, for they'd been sweeties toward the end of 1967. The second year sealed it; they got married and two children and grandchildren later, have made a good life for themselves. Jerry stayed in Jackson Hole, Wilson, by the foot of the tetons. He developed his own business digging foundations, etc, investing in real estate (very wise), and building his own home. He waited until age 57 to marry when he found the right gal, Patti Reilly, a professional fly-fisherwoman and trip planner. I returned to PA to be with my family of origin, after running through several professions I became a Social Worker/Therapist, never married, but have succeeded just the same. My life is richer having reunited with my old ranch buddies and former employers. We are all so Blessed to have been able to be on the ranch again, together.

Jackson Hole

Yesterday I returned to the land I love best on this earth, Jackson Hole, Wyoming and the most magnificent mountains ever, The Grand Tetons. They were so named, story has it, by French trappers who were reminded of women's breasts when seeing the mountains. Leave it to a Frenchman, Oooh, La La! Maybe it was Frenchwomen who named them!
Last night I camped by a river in the Gros Ventre area of the Hole. An earthquake recreated some of the terrain east of the campground, in 1950 (or so).There are a mother Great Horned Owl and her two fledglings in a tree at the camp. The most beautiful birds ever. Hard to see in the photo; look closely.***

Some of the nostalgia from 1967-1968 grabbed me last night, filling me with some sadness for days gone by but also with a deep gratitude to be able to return to all this beauty and my spiritual home.
At any rate, to me, these mountains carry special memories for me from my days working on Spotted Horse Ranch on the Hoback River, 20 miles South of the town of Jackson. That experience was the most wonderful time of my life (I've had many good times, though). Today I am meeting with my old work buddies,Gayle and Lenny Francis and Jerry Amadon, here in Jackson. Lenny and Jerry were Wranglers. Lenny was the real cowboy; Jerry did most of the carpentry and other construction installations on the ranch. Gayle and I were what they called Cabin Girls. Sounds risque, I know,but it's not what one might think. We cleaned toilets and sinks re-made beds, served meals and did dishes for the dudes. Because I could sing and play guitar, I also entertained the guest in the lodge bar at night. We also had some time to ride horses up into the high country that surrounded the ranch and dip into the ice-cold Hoback River on hot days. The four of us are going to visit with Dick and Dian Bess, our former ranch employers and former owners of Spotted Horse.

Yellowstone

Yellowstone National Park was damaged by an extensive forest fire in 1988. One can still see the charred and fallen trees, so sad. Although it's not my favorite park, it is a wonderful place to view wildlife. But, to whet your appetite, I encountered many massive bull buffalo, a bull Elk with the most fantastic rack on his head, which was still in velvet, and a mother grizzly with three cubs all lying with the remains of a recent kill. The rangers had a telescope set up and I attempted to photograph the group through it. I haven't viewed the photos fully yet, but one looks like I was able to zoom in with a wonderful shot of the sow's head and yellow eyes (Sounded cool, didn't it, but it turned out to be nothing). I camped in Yellowstone, cold again, but lovely. A thunderstorm rushed past, early evening, but the stars shone over me later.

camped by the Madison River

Last night I camped at the foot of the Madison Range of the Rockies. Had to drive on a 3 mile long dirt road, but was rewarded with a herd of antelope with many calves. I couldn't figure out who were the moms as several kids hung with one doe. My campsite was beside a bubbling brook that flowed into the Madison River, just 300 feet away. Just as I was ready to bounce into bed, however, I discovered my sheets were wet from a pair of soaked sneakers I'd found at the previous campsite. Duh! I didn't think about putting my tarp under them. Lesson learned. So, I was thrown back to the last time I'd wet the bed, age 5, when I placed a towel over the spot. Not a good sleep, and it became very cold in the night. But the view was so wonderful with the mountains out my window, a 1/2 moon on the rise, the big dipper over my head, and glorious red sunsets and sunrise. Ah, the American West. I'm now in a cafe in cattle country with cowboys all around me. They even wear cowboy hats, cb boots and spurs, Yahoo!

Canada, Oh Canada

I can understand why they hold a stampede in Calgary - what a ride there through the flatlands of Canada wheat country -felt like a stampede. Thought I'd never get there; and when I did, yuk! Terrible ride through the middle of Calgary, stop lights and all kinds of restaurants.

I just wanted to see the mountains; and mountains I saw. Wow, Oh Wow! I thought Glacier Park was wonderful, both places made me weep in thanks for the beauty of nature in all it's magnificance. Here are just a few photos of the area, too any to post - I took 83. I climbed up the path to the Columbia Ice fields and Athabasca glacier. It looked easy from the parking lot, but I huffed and puffed. Had to cross a field of snow. But, I made it!!! The way down was harder, crossing the snow. It was steep and, of course, I was so excited to get up there that I forgot about my hiking shoes in the van. I had on Teva sandals; did me well until the snowy path. At the steepest part, a tall, handsome stranger from Europe (Sounded German) offered me his hand. Holding onto him was like being bound to the strongest and tallest oak in the forest. He got me down safely. I camped in the forest near Lake Louise. Ah, the color of the lake's water is deliciously turquoise - no kidding. The photo above doesn't do it justice. And, I saw a cub Grizzley, wondered if mom was near, but a man said he was a yearly and most likely long weaned from her; black bear and cub, and 7 mountain goats in the center of a small village. Don't forget the many deer along the way.
I've driven so many hours, I feel disoriented.

Now, on to Jackson Hole, liesurely!

Montana

On the way to Billings, MT, the sacred scent of sweetgrass and sage filled the breezes. I was graced with at least six different species of waterfowl on a river inlet. Most were birds I'd never seen before; American Avocet, Stilt, yellow-headed blackbirds, and large ducks (I'm not sure what kind). I thought the ducks were some species of goose, but couldn't find them in my bird guide.

After 43 years, I reunited with friends with whom I'd worked at Spotted Horse Dude Ranch on the Hoback River in Jackson Hole Wyoming (1967). Gayle and Lenny were sweet on each other the year we worked together. They both returned the next year, not knowing the other would be there. That year solidified their love and they are now parents and grandparents. They treated me like a queen in their lovely home in Billings, MT. Had my own bedroom suite with whirlpool bath (couldn't use due to my old knees, etc.) We talked about old times and memories that seem like they just occured. Gayle made scrumcious meals and Lenny sang Ridin' Down the Canyon w/me. We made plans to reunite with another friend in Jackson, who also worked on the ranch; and with our former employers, Dick and Dian Bess. Can't wait!

Wyoming

Above is a view of Sheridan from Red Grave Road, a very steep gravel road that clims the side of the Big Horn Mtns. Middle; the Big Horns from the valley,and the Big Horn Mtns when in them, also lovely Wyoming horses.

The ride to Sheridan was long, hot, and scary as the landscape was dotted with a few ranches that one could not get to from the highway, if help was needed. I experienced the opposite of claustrophobia in the wide-open spaces. Don't know if there's a name for that. It was lovely,though - lush pastures and hills with clear skies and a few puffy clouds. Expected cowboy's to come rounding up cattle. Stopped at Glen Rock, Wy and the dinosauer museum. If I'd had time, I would have gone fossil hunting myself. Staying at friend's Patti and Gary Atkins. Gary is in the hospital with end of life facing him. Love that man! His wife, Patti, is very brave, but having tender moments. They've been married 40 some years. We bring him home tomorrow. Patti and I did a short fossil hunt yesterday in Decker, MT where Decker Coal is. Found some fossilized sea animals/shells. I hate to see the land decimated by surface mining, but it was interesting to see the long freight trains, neatly loaded with fine coal. Patti says they reclaim the land, but....

Yesterday, I had a break from helping my friend caretake. I drove into the Big Horns, stopped to find fossils and neat rocks. The top of the mountain is the oldest because erosion moved the newer material to the bottom. Met a woman who knows of Perkasie and who is from Ohio, so we talked old home. Small world, eh.

I'll leave tomorrow morning for Billings, MT to meet with friends with whom I worked on Spotted Horse Dude Ranch in 1967 - Gayle & Lenny Francis. We haven't talked or seen each other since then. Can't wait.

Colorado family, Sister Linda, her kids, Robbie (his kids) & Brandi. my camp, Windsor & Rockies