The Road to Nowhere

Pine on Rabbit Mountain in black and white copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

Living in the Midwest, I'm so used to smaller vistas, like an overlook onto a lake that may have hills beyond. The view is more finite. But here in the foothills of the western mountains, the distances one can see are so much greater, and the sky and clouds much closer to me. On this late afternoon, I was hiking up a stony path, camera gripped securely in my hand, aware of the fading light and the need to keep an eye on my steps on a rocky inclined path. The way wound upward along the side of a ridge. I kept climbing, aware the top of the ridge was close, judging by how far down I could see the sky through the trees above me, something I'd learned to watch for over portages in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota when carrying a heavy pack or canoe that kept me going, and hinted at a slope going down to the next lake.

I was drawn to another view, a faint path to this solitary pine partway down the slope. I loved the bravery of the tree, standing here in the wind, and snapped a few pictures. A person could have reached the tree from any manner of directions, making their own path, but others before had found a way and I followed it. Beside me, the grasses waving in the wind and dried flowers that grew in the recent summer were still beautiful in their own way. My eyes took them in, but I stayed on the narrow path.

I thought about how often in my life I've taken or tried any number of approaches to something, when the best approach was to be disciplined enough stay the course and follow my heart. Maybe staying on a path could feel limiting, but I read recently that there is freedom in discipline. It struck me differently than before. It resonated with me. With discipline, I don't take a tangent. I don't waste precious time. I just look at the grasses and plants along the way and go forward, mindful of time passing and the need to get off the mountain while I could still see the way. The reward is the view - the vastness of possibilities that open up when I follow my path and get on with it.

Pine on Rabbit Mountain in color copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

The key is to keep going, growing and commit to being disciplined. Stay the course and keep moving forward. I'm in for that!

Blue Day

There's something here - Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I can't put my finger on what draws me to nature spaces, but I know I must be "here". Often. Daily if I can. Trusting myself to follow the nudge to get out the door.

Maybe the word that draws me is potential? As in the potential of catching something that is new to me - a mushroom that popped up, a mallard duck with 9 growing ducklings in tow, a flower that stands alone in a prairie landscape, putting a punctuation mark on its place.

Every day holds the potential to experience something new and making forward progress to change and grow. Change is not my favorite thing -- often I am not comfortable with change and have to remind myself that I wouldn't be where I am now without change. The recent addition of a granddaughter caused me to reflect on all the change that she experiences as and will experience before she even learns to crawl. And how change is a good thing, comfortable or not. It was pointed out to me recently that any forward progress is good. I want to live that more, remembering how it always feels to learn something new - I feel alive when I am learning!

One change from recent drought years are the generous rains that occurred with a degree of regularity this summer, causing the forests and prairies to explode with dense foliage. The prairie plants seem to compete with who can catch the most sun, stretching upwards together. Many are chest high or more. Yes, the birds and other wildlife are here, but they have more room to remain just out of my view. But yet, there's the potential they just might step out in the open while I'm here. It makes it more exciting to hear them, and see if I can find them, either with my eyes or with help from my camera lens.

I remain vigilant as I walk, stepping on damp leaves, avoiding the crunch of grave on the worn path that might startle wildlife. My dog, George is a silent walker, too; his fur paws always move quietly on any surface as if he is wearing slippers. He's learned to be quiet, attentive and patient with me and my frequent stops to look closer at something. We walk together, connected by a leash and my recent improvement: a carabiner attached to the leash that I snap to my belt loop. It's a simple thing that I should have thought of a long time ago, No fumbling with the leash when I see something and George stays safe as well.

We are the visitors here, and I deeply respect the "residents" who are busy raising their families, plants growing up from the ground, larvae maturing into their adult stage, mushrooms popping up (literally overnight), to name a few of the homies. Through it all, there is the potential for me to see something, if my dog and I are quiet, patient and careful where we step.

Walking along, I became a little distracted, wishing to see a scarlet tanager (and not taking my own advice to be ready for ANYTHING that catches my eye. (sigh)) There have been a few of these brilliant birds here, so I keep looking for brilliant red patches in the foliage.

But - at the edge of my field of view, I catch movement, a patch of blue. I stop gently and slowly raise my camera up to my eye. My dog is quiet and still. Good. It's a bit dark where I am looking, but there it is again, hopping along a branch that is horizontal to the ground, reaching a fork, and peeking out at me.

Indigo Bunting. Small beauty of a bird. I adjust my exposure to draw out the deep blue from the dark green foliage that kept him out of the spotlight. I snapped a few photos, taking advantage of how comfortable he was on his perch, safe far above me.

Nature never disappoints. I'm taking my own counsel: There is always something to see that you haven't seen before. I'll be back for more.

Lift-Off

Fully committed to moving on, this Common Yellowthroat is taking off! Light on his feet and fully outstretched, he's leaving nothing on the table.

Common Yellowthroat - Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I love the photo of this songbird fully outstretched. I had no idea his legs were that long. If he was bigger, maybe he'd be a wading bird?

Speaking of letting go, I feel ready to let go of a habit of mine: needing to fill the air with chatter, when silence or a single word will do. I'm not very comfortable with what seems like unending silence stretching out in space in a conversation. Even when it looks like I am quiet, my mind is usually carrying on with a whole bunch of things, pushing me to fill the space with extraneous words that just don't need to be said. Kind of annoying. I'm now much more aware that I do it, which is progress.

I know that it's common to have a busy mind and not so common to be still. To me, a pause in a conversation feels like an eternity, especially when I think I need to respond right NOW. Closely related, is how I interrupt, jumping ahead and assuming where the conversation is going. I don't do it all the time, but enough that it makes me uncomfortable to admit it to myself.

It really isn't hard to stop speaking needlessly, but it certainly is a habit that I fully embraced for a long time, fearing I better have an answer immediately, or else (as if it would appear that I wasn't paying attention to the conversation I was having with someone)!

It just takes practice.

There's freedom to be gained in just letting conversations naturally flow. I recently read that words are like spells and should be used wisely, further incentive to use words carefully!

I like that I can leave behind those extra words that don't need to be said, like that bird is leaving behind whatever is on the branch. I can take a breath and pause, land listen. I'll take those extra few moments to think about what I want to say, and most importantly whether anything really needs to be said.

I'm just going for it, like the warbler in the photo.