I Am Against the Land Swap Proposed by the Broadmoor

It is rare for me to use my blog as a place for political action or political views.  I am very passionate about a land swap that has been proposed by the Broadmoor Hotel to the City of Colorado Springs. If you live in Colorado Springs, I urge you to write Mayor Suthers on this matter.  I also urge you to sign the petition linked below this letter.

Dear Mayor Suthers,

I am a third generation native of Colorado Springs.  My grandfather on my father’s side came here in 1908 to work for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad.  My great-grandparents on my father’s mother’s side settled in the Florence area as early as 1889.  On my mother’s side, her great-grandmother was in Colorado Springs within just a few years of its founding.  My mother’s father, came to live with his grandmother within a few years after his grandmother arrived, around 1893.  Needless to say, my roots go deep in this community.  

My father, William (Bill) French, was born in Glockner Hospital one hundred years ago on April 11, 1916. During his early childhood he lived on the west side of Colorado Springs.  The neighborhood where he grew up in his earliest years was razed to build some of I25.  When he was around ten years old, my grandparents bought a home at 823 E. Boulder, which was the family home until the 1980’s.  My father grew up going to Columbia School, North Junior High School, and Colorado Springs High School.  When he graduated from high school, he attended Colorado College and worked at Busy Corner Drugstore.  During the war years, after he had married and started a family, he purchased a home at 924 E. Boulder.  This was my childhood home.  Just before I was born, and just before he left for World War II duty, he went to work for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad as a clerk.  My grandfather, A.M. French, was a telegrapher for the D&RG RR and had been since 1908.  So, not only do my roots go deep in Colorado Springs, but they also go deep when it comes to General Palmer’s railroad.  I am a railroader’s daughter.  For that I am extremely proud.

 A lover of Colorado Springs, her beauty, and her history, my father would take us on long rides every weekend showing us the town, the land, and the area that he considered our heritage and our legacy.  He was a storyteller, and oh how I wish I could remember those stories.  I think we all could benefit from hearing the stories my father and his uncles could tell us about Colorado Springs.  

During the time the Air Force Academy was built, my father was assigned as a loss inspector for the railroad and it was his task to inspect all the building supplies that were shipped to the Academy by rail. Since my father was able to have a bird’s eye view of watching the Academy be built from the ground up, he wanted to share that historical time with us by taking us on rides up to the area every few weeks so we could see the progress being made.  Those are treasured memories.

During this same time, and after, my father was involved with the Colorado Springs Planning Committee.  I am not sure of the exact dates when he served on this committee.  I only know of how much he wanted to preserve what he thought made Colorado Springs the wonderful place that it was.  He was against anything that took away from the natives having access to public lands that had been bequeathed to the city.  He believed that we had a duty to honor General Palmer’s views of preserving the beauty of Colorado Springs.  He did not want developers of any type to destroy the natural beauty of Colorado Springs.  He believed we could have growth while also preserving our natural treasures and keeping them open for the general public.  It was then the public’s duty to keep these treasures of land safe.  Whenever we went for picnics in The Bluffs or in the Garden of the Gods, we had to form a human chain just before we left so that we picked up every piece of garbage, paper, cigarette butts, or bottle caps we might find in our path.  We were taught to leave things and places better than we found them.  We were taught to leave no or little footprint when we were in the places of nature that surrounded Colorado Springs or in other part of our beloved Colorado.

My father worked with and for Mr. Thayer Tutt, who was director of the D&RG RR.  He would always tell of stories of when he had to go see Mr. Tutt at the Broadmoor.  Mr, Tutt would ask, “Bill, how’s your railroad doing?”  My father would answer with, “I believe it is your railroad, and it is doing well.”  There was a close connection in those days with the holdings of the Broadmoor and the railroad, but I don’t think my father ever saw that as anything that would indicate that the Broadmoor was interested in a what many would call today a “land grab.”  The Broadmoor was a local treasure and enjoyed by her citizens, just as so many other showplaces of Colorado Springs were.

It was in the 80’s, after my father retired, that the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad was changed forever.  That was when Phil Anschutz, a man who owned "more land than any other private citizen in the United States” bought the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad.  It broke my father’s heart because he saw it as a way for the new owner of the railroad  to access some of the most valuable land in Colorado.  He knew the railroad was a good as dead when this deal for Anshutz to purchase the railroad was over.  He was right.

Some of us are not fooled by the transaction called a land swap. I see this as one more way for Phil Anschutz to acquire another piece of Colorado for his empire.  My father was not one to mince words; neither am I.  I think the winner in this swap is not the people of Colorado Springs.  The winner is the Broadmoor and Phil Anschutz.  I urge you to stand on the side of the people of the town whom elected you by making sure this land swap never happens. I urge you to keep Strawberry Fields as an undeveloped area owned by the City of Colorado Springs to be treasured and loved by, and enjoyed by her citizens.  I urge you to stand against corporate gain that may drive small businesses out of business.  I urge you to stand with the “little guy” that doesn’t have power in city politics.  I urge you to listen to the taxpayers of this town who do not wish to have a land swap of a piece of land that should remain in the City of Colorado Spring’s possession and under her protection.  

Yesterday, as I parked my car near what was once know as Busy Corner, Tejon and Pikes Peak, and I crossed Pikes Peak heading south on Tejon, my eyes drifted to where the magnificent Chief Theater and Burn Building once stood.  As I looked at that empty space that is covered with a parking lot, I was reminded of a conversation my father had with Mayor Larry Ochs back in the seventies.  My father was in Colorado Springs visiting after he had been transferred to Grand Junction to serve as Superintendent of the Western Slope of the D&RG RR.  As the two visited, Mayor Ochs asked my father what he thought of all the changes in Colorado Springs.  My father’s reply was, “I think Colorado Springs is becoming a kleenex town.”  Mayor Ochs asked for clarification, “A kleenex town.  What do you mean?”  My father’s reply was so indicative of his wit, his ability to use great metaphors, his love of Colorado Springs, and his disappointment over the loss of historic buildings and spaces, “Yes, a kleenex town.  You use it once, then you throw it away.”

Mayor Suthers, I urge you not to throw away Strawberry Fields.  Making a land swap with the Broadmoor Hotel for this property would bad for the citizens of Colorado Springs, for those whom may wish to visit our city in the future, and for wildlife.  Again, I urge you to remember not to throw this property away by making a deal that is not in our best interests.  Remember my father’s kleenex analogy when you ponder this decision.  Vote against the swap.  

Sincerely,

Sally L. Wessely

https://www.change.org/p/colorado-springs-city-council-the-broadmoor-hotel-anschutz-entertainment-group-no-to-the-broadmoor-land-swap-deal-our-historic-wildlife-open-space-is-not-for-sale?recruiter=82654902&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink

March in My Neck of The Woods

March, 

you and Mother Nature need to talk.

According to the calendar, winter is over.

Spring is here.

March,

I always have such great expectations when you arrive.

My head begins to dream of  

flowers blooming,

sun shining,

and trees budding.
My soul longs for green grass and colorful landscapes.

March,

you are typically the snowiest month in Colorado.

Do you think you and Mother Nature could talk and change that statistic?

March,

when you arrive, I know your track record.

 You always seem to bend those optimistic looking daffodils over until they touch the earth from which they so recently have sprung when you cover them with your thick covers of heavy wet snow.
Soon their jaunty heads will defy the snow you bring.
They are hearty and resilient flowers.
They must be to deal with you,
March.

March,
I know you and your ways.
I've learned to adapt to your capricious ways.
When I was just a child, my grandfather told me all about you.
He'd say, "If you don't like the weather in Colorado in the spring,
stick around for five minutes and it will change.

March,
even though I know how you are,
I fall for your ways on those days when you bring us sunshine.
Your whimsical nature
makes me dream of sunny, warm days filled with flowers, and birds, and shady trees.

I imagine warm spring and summer evenings on the new patio I just had built
for those warm days to come.

On those days filled with your whimsy,
I forget how temperamental you can be.
The very next day,
you bring snow, and wind, and blizzards that keep me indoors and shut down traffic.

Deer looking for food on March 26, 2016.
They are trying to eat pine needles on the tree they are under.

In my memory, I hear my grandfather singing, "When it's springtime in the Rockies,"
whenever it snows.

Yes,
March, I know all about you.

March,
you can be so volatile.

March,
your days are coming to an end for this year.
I am so looking forward to
April's
visit.

*************************

March has been as capricious as ever this year.

Easter plans were nearly ruined by the heavy snow that fell the two days before Easter.  Jim had to work on the day before Easter, and it snowed and snowed and snowed.  I had purchased food to cook for Easter dinner.  The weather changed all our plans for having family with us for our Easter celebration.  

That didn't stop me from cooking.  It was snowing.  The house was empty.  I had nothing else to do, so I cooked.  I made homemade rolls, a large bowl of potato salad, and frog eye salad.  As I cooked, I talked to my dear friend Linda on the phone.  She also was cooking for family.  Her family also had to change their plans.  I said, "Linda, come on over here for Easter dinner.  Let's put our food together and celebrate Easter together."  She said she'd made a cake.  I didn't have any dessert made yet.  I had a ham.  I told her not to cook her turkey.  She had cheese bread she'd made.  She also made a green salad.

After Easter church services, Linda and her husband Greg came over and celebrated with us.  It was good to have the time with the dearest of friends.  The sun was shining, the snow was melting, and we celebrated the renewal of spring that we would surely see in days to come.

I remembered to take a photo of Jim and Greg after dinner, but since I didn't take one of Linda and me, I am including a photo taken of us a few years back on Easter Sunday.

***************

The last few days we have been able to get out and walk when it isn't snowing.

The dark skies over the mountains confirm weather predictions.

Snow is on it's way.

We live in a valley at the feet of the foothills.

As we walk up the steep incline that is just a few blocks from our house,

we can get just a peek of the peak that is Pikes Peak.

Storm clouds are gathering.

We live in the city, but sometime's you'd never know it.

We get the best of both worlds where we live:  close to the city and close to the mountains.

That means we also get the snow that others just a few hundred feet lower,

and just a few miles away,

don't get.

It is snowing again tonight.

The prediction is that it will be colder and there will be more snow and wind tomorrow.

March is not going out like a lamb.

I will have cataract surgery tomorrow.

I predict I will be spending the day after surgery wrapped up in blanket and enjoying the beauty of the snowy world around me.

Christmas ~ A Reflection of Christmas Past

The day was a bleak, cold one.  Snow and cold weather had brought life to a standstill throughout most of the city the day before.  I had an early afternoon appointment with my cardiologist at the hospital downtown, the one in which I was born so many years ago.   By the time I left the appointment and made my way out of the hospital parking lot, I was starving.  A holiday dinner was scheduled for later that evening, so I didn't want much lunch.  As I drove west, making my way the few city blocks towards the home in which I had lived as a child, my mind was focused on trying to find a place to stop into for a quick bit of food to tide me over until dinner.  There's no place to stop for lunch in this neighborhood, I thought.  

Just then, I caught sight of the little coffee shop across the street from the corner of the block where my childhood home was located.  The coffee shop is housed in the building that once housed a grocery store and the neighborhood drugstore.  Hungry to the point of going into a state of hypoglycemic  craziness, I parked my car on Boulder Street, my street, the place where I grew up, and made my way to the shop. 

As I rushed from the car to the shop, my mind returned to all those times over half a century ago when I would stop on the corner across the street from where I now stood.   My memory transported me to a time when my mother would entrust a quarter to me with the instructions that I was to go buy a loaf a bread.  "Yes, you can keep the change and buy candy if you wish."  I'd skip down the street, stop on the corner, look both ways, run across Boulder Street, and then Institute Street, and then skip up to the front door of the grocery.  

I could almost see those long ago penny candy boxes lined up in front of the front counter where I would pay for the bread as I approached the door.  The door was locked.  It was dark inside.   Pressing my nose against the window, I peered in and saw the shell of what once was the market of my youth.  I remembered the meat counter at the back.  That's where the check-out counter and the candy was, I thought as I noticed the worn floors I had walked across so many times so many years ago.  Coffee bean bags and equipment for brewing coffee were strewn all over the small space.  Was this store really that small?  

Just as I turned to head back to the car, desperate to find another place for a quick snack, I realized there seemed to be life in the other side of the shop, the place where a drugstore once was located.  I walked towards the door and realized the coffee shop was housed on that side of the building.  Inside, the layout was all wrong.  Tables and benches lined the wall where my cousin and I would once sit at the soda fountain to order our cherry cokes when we were cool thirteen year olds with enough money to buy a coke.  On the opposite side of where the soda fountain once stood, was a bar where I could now order coffee and something to eat.

Soon, a bagel, a very good bagel, with cream cheese, and an excellent cafe latte brought my sugar levels back up to normal.  Siting on the wooden bench in the bay window store front, I savored the moment.  

Somehow, despite the cold weather, the dreary skies, the worries in my heart, and the feeling that this Christmas just wasn't going to be that merry, my spirits were lifted by being in that simple little coffee shop that was full of young people studying for finals. 

I felt I was in the heart of "home" while I sat sipping my cafe latte.  Grateful, for the time of rest, refreshment, and time for reflection on the happy, simple days spent in this little corner of my early world, I left the shop and headed back to my car.

These streets, these sidewalks, are as familiar to me as the back of my hand.  I know where all the cracks are, and even the several types of concrete used to make these sidewalks are familiar.  They haven't changed in all these year.  

I look up at the trees that line the street.  They seem to be standing guard as they protect all the memories once made under their leafy branches. Their aged, bare limbs seem all the more empty now that they no longer shelter my great grandparents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my father from hot summer days. 

Grandma's house is just down the street.  I can't see her house, but it is there just steps away.  How I wish I could walk down that street and walk in the door for a visit.   

Trees stand guard on the way to Grandma's House

My roots run deep on this street.

I think of the family history that these trees witnessed on this block.  They watched my father move into the house just down the way over ninety years ago.  I look at the trees and see my parents standing so close together for a photo on their wedding day.  The day was a bleak and cold one.  They'd been married in the United Presbyterian Church across the street right after morning services on that February day.

My earliest days were spent here.

My first Christmas was here.

Daddy was just home from the army.

World War II had just ended.

Grandma's house provided the heart of Christmas for so many years.

My grandmother in front of a fireplace with a Van Briggle hearth -
My grandmother holding me on her right and my cousin Donna on her left

Christmas was no small undertaking in those days.

All the aunts, the uncles, the cousins would be at Grandma's at Christmas.

It had been that way since my earliest days.

Baking for Christmas began before Thanksgiving.

That is when Grandma made her wonderful fruitcake.

The panty, that cold room right off the kitchen, 

the place where we as children could never enter,

the place that seemed like the inner sanctum of the home that was the heart of Christmas,

held shelves stacked high with metal tins full of 

perfectly made candy:

peanut brittle,

divinity,

cherry drops, 

fudge.

More tins held the most heavenly tasting spritz cookies.

Oh the joy I would feel

when she would enter the pantry after Christmas dinner 

and load down the kitchen table with:

mincemeat pies,

pumpkin pies,

 cookies, 

and  candy,

all made by her own hand.

Preparation for Christmas Day would have also included

days of polishing the silver.

Sometimes, we, the older cousins, had the task of going to Grandma's house a few days before Christmas to polish the silverware and the silver serving dishes.

 We would very carefully take the china from the dining room buffet and set the table.

The table had to be properly set.

The salad plate, the water glasses, the silverware, the napkins, all had to be properly placed.

The silverware was measured with a finger to be an inch from the end of the table.

We always went to the church across the street for Christmas Eve services.  

Always.

It was the family tradition for Christmas.

The story was always told of how my father as a young boy, dressed in his new flannel robe, which had been purchased for his part as one of the shepherds in the Christmas pageant, 

had begged to stay home from church.

He said he was ill.

My grandmother was a strict disciplinarian.

He was told to get over to the church and fulfill his duty.

He did.

Halfway though the pageant, he vomited and had been rushed home across the street wearing soiled new robe.

Years later, my cousin, my sister, and I would be angels in that same Christmas pageant.

My home,

Grandma's home,

my elementary school,

the church,

the grocery store,

were all within a block of each other.

My world was small.

It was filled with rich relationships,

many funny stories,

great laughter,

long held traditions,

and

solid foundations for

faith

and family.

As I think on these things,

the memory of my mother's beautifully clear soprano voice fills my mind.

Christmas memories from this place would not be complete without the memory of her

dressed in her green silk dress,

the one she made from drapery fabric,

 standing  in the choir loft at church just as the Christmas program starts.

My mother, a tiny 4'll" dark haired woman is adorned in

crystal jewelry which sparkles as she sings.

I am in awe of her beauty.

I am proud of her and her beautiful voice.

 With a lighted candle in my hand,  I listen with tears rolling down my cheeks as she sings.

I will soon be lighting the Christmas candles nestled among the pine branches placed in front of the church windows.

Her voice rings out with the words of that beloved Christmas song.

Oh Holy Night!  The stars are brightly shining.

It is the night of our dear Savior's birth.

***

Truly He taught us to love one another.

He law is love and His gospel is peace.

********

Today we sang those words of that much loved Christmas song in church.

O Holy Night!

Again, my mind went back to my mother.

I longed to be standing next to her in church listening to her sing that song of 

praise and adoration 

for her Savior,

Immanuel,

God with Us,

The One whose birth we celebrate on Christmas.

*********

This past week, as I walked back to my car after walking up to the long ago home of my father and his parents, those memories of days of long ago were again tucked away in my mind.

Grandma's house is still there,

but I can't walk up the path and step on to her porch and find her and grandpa sitting in the dining room reading.

She died on Christmas Eve over thirty years ago.

My father is also gone.

All the aunts and uncles are gone.

Only the memory of the 

times we spent together, 

those times filled with

such wonderful stories,

and

so much laughter

remain.

Mother is still with us.

Today, she and I talked of that Christmas when she sang her favorite Christmas song,

and mine.

She said she went to church today was able to sing in  despite it being her one hundredth year after she celebrated her first Christmas.

I am now a grandmother.

My grandchildren will never have the rich memories of the Christmas traditions of family that I hold so dear.

We don't live near each other.

We seldom see each other at Christmas.

It breaks my heart each and every year not to be with my children and grandchildren.

*********

As I get in my car to leave the streets of my childhood,

I remember the prayer I had for this Christmas.

I prayed I would not be focused on the traditions and trappings of Christmas.

Certainly, those traditions are wonderful to create, to remember, and to celebrate,

but they really are not what Christmas is all about.

I prayed that I would not focus on the trappings of Christmas this year.

I prayed I would rejoice in the One whose birth we celebrate.

I prayed I would not miss the reason we have Christmas.

I prayed that each of my loved ones would know this truth this year:

Truly He taught us to love one another.

He law is love and His gospel is peace.

May your Christmas be filled with 

hope,

joy,

love,

and

peace.

My Hometown: A Place of Beauty and of Brokenness

Sinking into cushioned warmth and comfort of my favorite cottage rose patterned damask covered chair this morning, the first grace of the day came from the hands  of my husband as he handed me a steaming hot cup of coffee he'd brewed before I even got out of bed.  He greeted me with a gentle good morning kiss.  The next grace came from Boston as he came to sit by my side.  Soft, throaty sounds came from him as he patiently waited for me to stroke his neck, his ears, his head.

I am blessed.

Still dressed in my pajamas and an old blue hooded fleece jacket, aka my morning robe, and wearing worn and rundown looking Ugg slippers, a gift from many Christmas's ago, I left the safety of my home to retrieve the morning paper buried and nearly hidden under three inches of snow.  Before I bent down to pick-up the paper, my eyes scanned the quiet, snow covered,  peaceful looking place where I live.

Such beauty.

This world has such beauty.

Then my mind was again assailed by the events of the previous day.

Such brokenness.

This world has such brokenness.

************

The day after Thanksgiving, I'd been tempted to stay home and read and write all day.  I wanted to avoid all places where shoppers would be frequenting.  An early morning phone call to a dear friend ended by us making plans to meet in an hour at the health club so we could do water aerobics together.  

The warm water in the therapy pool provided us with the perfect place to move our achy joints and catch up with each other on our latest news and thoughts about life.  After class we headed to the hot tub for more conversation while soaking to ease those same achy joints.  

Showered and dressed, as we headed to the front door together to leave the club, still talking and laughing, we decided we weren't done visiting yet, so we headed to the comfortable looking couch in the lounge area.  

Not long after we'd situated ourselves for a bit more conversation, the instructor for our Monday Zumba Gold class leaned over to ask us if we'd heard the news of the shooting yet.  "What shooting?" "There's an active shooter on Fillmore," she said.  "Where on Fillmore?"  I asked?  I looked up at the television screen overhead, and saw the news crawl across the bottom of screen.  "Not again?  Here? We have a mass shooting here today???"  Then, my phone rang.  It was my sister in San Diego.  "Where are you?  Are you ok?"  She'd just seen the news of the shooting.

Girlfriend time and conversation ended abruptly with this sobering news.   Quite honestly, I didn't didn't want to remain in a public place at such a time.  My thoughts went to Columbine, and 9/11.  I'd been in my classroom and responsible for lives of my students when the news of these senseless acts of violence occurred.  Then there was the time a shooter went into a local church and started shooting.  I remembered being in my kitchen on Sunday morning when I heard that news.  I was at home in my kitchen when I heard of the Aurora Theater shootings.  I'd been mopping the floor in the laundry room when I heard of Sandy Hook.  Now, I was sitting and enjoying the company of a dear friend at our health club when our feelings peace and safety were sent flying end over end.  "No place is safe." I fought thinking those thoughts.  "Has the world gone completely crazy?"

We decided to head home.  It was snowing quite hard as I headed out of the door.  I checked my phone for the latest news on Facebook.  My cousin lives near the place where the shooting was taking place.  I called her to find out what was going on.  I wanted to see if my access to home would be blocked since I live about eight miles from the shooting.  She told me which streets were blocked and caught me up on the news that was being broadcast on live television.  It appears the shooter was targeting the Planned Parenthood building located near a very busy, one of the busiest, intersection in Colorado Springs.  There is a large shopping area across the parking lot from the PP building that houses small shops and large grocery store where I most often do my grocery shopping.  Next to the PP building is a medical building where I have visited a gifted neurological doctor.  Jim has gone to the eye doctor in that same building.  

As the day and evening progressed, we'd learned that three individuals, one a police officer had been killed in the shooting spree.  Nine people were injured.  Five of the injured are police officers.  The shooter had surrendered.  He was in custody.  

********

By the time I went to bed last night, I'd learned that the officer killed was a University of Colorado at Colorado Springs police officer.  He responded to the call of a shooting by leaving the campus and going to assist his fellow officers across town.  He was a former ice skating champion and devoted husband and father.  He was also a devout Christian, an elder in his church, a song leader, and a teacher of the Bible.  He showed valor and bravery as he went to do battle with a man intent on doing bodily harm to whomever stood in his way of accomplishing what ever his senseless mission might have been.  

My heart is broken because of this senseless tragedy that occurred in my hometown.  I, like so many others, try to make sense of it all.  No one can make sense of those actions that are senseless.  I know that, but human nature wants me to try to make sense out of the darkness that fills the souls of those whom participate in such acts of violence.

Last night, I prayed for those harmed in the attacks before I drifted off to sleep.  I prayed for the wife and children of the slain officer.  I prayed for the families of the two other victim killed in the attack.  I prayed for those who suddenly found themselves victims of this tragedy just because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

 I then prayed for my ninety-nine year old mother.  She'd sounded terrible when I'd called her earlier in the day.  She had a chest cold.  I called her again in the evening and lectured her about not ignoring her symptoms and urged her to get medical care if she became worse.  As I prayed for her, I questioned why she had to be exposed to such violence when she turned on her television and saw what was occurring in the place where she grown up and raised her family.  

*********

This morning I read the morning news, which not good; it only gave more details about yesterday's insanity.  I then called to check on Mother.  She sounded much better and was quite chipper as she said, "Good morning."  I thanked God for answered prayer.  We talked about the news.  We talked of the beauty of the snow.  We talked about the brokenness of this world.  We ended our conversation by discussing the new shoots of growth coming from our orchids.  

Yes, even on a day of cold, gloom, and sorrow, there is still hope for new beginnings and even future beautiful blossoms, 

I think as I check on the orchid in dining room window.  It is good to discuss such things with my mother, the one with such a green thumb, who continues to teach me much on life, faith, and gardening even on the darkest of days.  

Yes, thankfully, I have my mother on days such as today to ground me and remind me of fundamental truths about life.  She gets up every morning and checks to see what happened outside while she was sleeping before she makes her one cup of coffee, fries her bacon and eggs, and makes a piece of toast.  She reads her morning devotional and Bible passage before she reads the newspaper.  

She's seen much in her century of life.  Much.  She is connected to the world and interested in it.  I think that is why she is still going strong. She tends to her occasional chest colds, but rarely gets sick.  I learn so much from watching her as she thrives in her aging process.  Even though she will be 100 in a little over a half of a year from now, I can't bring myself to describe her as old.  She trusts the Lord for each day that she is given.  In the end, despite the evil all around us, she continues to trust in the goodness of the Lord.

******

I ponder the dichotomy of the world in which we live after I hang up from my morning talk with Mother.

We have been placed  in a world of great beauty, but we have also been placed in a very broken world.  In the brokenness that surrounds me, I pray I will not turn to bitterness or fear.  

It seems everyone wants to have a platform these days to spew forth whatever hatred, rancor, and division fills their hearts.  Acts of violence fills our newspapers, news feeds on the computer, and the daily evening news.  We are seeing insanity at every turn.  

I wonder what people group will be the hated other this week.  Last week it was the Syrian refugees we were all supposed to hate and fear.  Before that, we were told to hate the illegal immigrants from Mexico.  Before that it was those publicly speaking out against the war in Iraq whom were target for hate attacks.  We constantly judge each other and attack each other in the media and even in small groups who gather around dinner tables to celebrate Thanksgiving, or even in our church meetings, or school buildings.  There seems to be no sensible discussion of the events and problems of our day.  Does our generation not know how to discuss differences of opinion? 

This week, will it be that we are told to hate the so called religious fanatics that picket against abortion?  Never mind that we don't know whether or not the shooter in Colorado Springs was a religious fanatic or not.  His name has already been linked to those who picket against abortion in the daily news as if he is one of those people.

*******

Today, I will continue to seek understanding and grace.  I will lift my eyes unto the hills, gazing at my beloved Pikes Peak, the mountain that lived at the end of the street where I was born.  When I look at this peak, it will be the same solid mountain that lived at the end of the street where I grew-up.  Pikes Peak, my mountain, still lives at the end of the street where senseless violence killed three innocent people on Halloween.  This purple mountain majesty, on a day when it was shrouded and hidden behind dark clouds, was still standing when it provided the backdrop for a place where incomprehensible terror and mayhem left a stain of blood from a brave police officer, a man of God, on cold snow covered concrete on a day after the day when when we gather to give thanks for all of our blessings.

Today, when I lift my eyes unto the hills, I will see the beauty of the place where I live, but I will also see our shattered broken world at the feet of America's mountain.  

Despite the brokenness, my hope for the future is not shattered.  That mountain, and all the others surrounding it, will still be standing long after I have gone.  If, for some reason, the mountains should be moved, if that which seems impossible should happen, I will continue to hope.  I  will continue to hope because I trust in the One the Psalmist wrote about in one of my favorite Psalms: 

Psalm 121.  

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,

from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord,

which made heaven and earth.

He will not suffer thy foot to be moved:  

he that keepth thee will not slumber.

Behold, he that keepth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is they keeper:

the Lord is thy shade upon they right hand.

The sun shall not smite thee by day,

nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil:

he shall preserve they soul.

The Lord shall preserve thy going out and they coming in from this time forth,

and even for evermore.

********

I know of no way to live in this place of beauty and brokenness except by trusting in the One who made the world and continues to hold it together even as it seems that all sanity and peace is being shattering and tossed in all directions.  

Celebrating Colorado

Colorado turned 139 years old this past Saturday.

We decided to celebrate both the birthday and the State of Colorado by visiting one of her treasures:

Red Rock Canyon Open Space.

I'd never been to Red Rock Canyon Open Space before.

In fact, as a third generation Coloradan, born and raised in the City of Colorado Springs, I am ashamed to say I'd never even heard of Red Rock Canyon Open Space until a few years ago.

I grew up spending many happy days throughout my childhood exploring Garden of the Gods.

I couldn't even tell you how many times in my lifetime I have driven past the 787 acres that comprise this spectacular treasure tucked unnoticed in the canyon along side of Highway 24.

How did I miss it?

How did I not know it was there?

The short answer is that until the early 2000's it was owned for over eighty years by a private family.
It was not on public lands.
It was private and inaccessible.

The story of how the City of Colorado Springs acquired this area will not be recounted here in this post, but I have provided a link for those of you whom might be interested in reading about about it.

Link:  Red Rock Canyon Open Space.

I wish my uncles were alive.

No doubt in their days of exploration of the Colorado Springs area during the 1920's and 1930's, I have every reason to speculate that they visited this place while looking for arrowheads and places to climb and explore.
They knew about such secret places.
They had explored them.
I doubt that rumors of a man with a gun protecting the place would have kept them out.
I just wish I could ask them about it.

This area, known as the "secret Garden of the Gods," is truly, as the article I linked for you says, 

a geological wonder.

If you have been to the Garden of the Gods, you have seen similar outcroppings of red sandstone rock as you will see in this open space.

In fact, both areas are one whole geographic ecosystem.

Only in modern times have they been viewed as separate systems.

I am not a geologist, though I wish I had studied more of this field, but the rock formations in my hometown have always fascinated me.  

Having never been to Red Rock Canyon Open Space,
Jim and I did not know what to expect when we set out for our adventure.

We tried to explore the area last summer when son Jonathan and grandson Atticus were here.

We only got a photo to commemorate the start of the hike when the rains came.

This year, we again took a few photos to commemorate the day and
hoped rain would not end our hike.

(Typical blogger activity: take photos for the blog at the start of any adventure.)

The smile is a real one.

Feeling well and energetic,
I was so excited to finally get out and do a hike with my man and my dog.

There is no better way to celebrate Colorado Day than by taking in her beauty 

with the ones you love.

Our first task was to choose a trail to explore.

We started down the path.

The day was warm, but the clouds were not threatening a storm.  

They provided a welcomed cloud cover from the sun.

I love that blue Colorado sky.

I love those red rocks.

Yes, Colorado is colorful.

Colorado means:  colored red.

Now you know how Colorado got her name.

Enjoy photos from our walk.

I believe this peaceful looking lake is not without its controversy.

It was built by the previous owners of the area to catch and store rain water.

That is against the law in the State of Colorado.

Colorado Water Laws are very strict.

Retaining pools are illegal.

Pools like these have been dry during periods of drought.

Spring rains caused them to flood and damage the surrounding trails.

On this day, the pool was beautiful and serene.

You can read about the damage and the water controversy here if you are interested.

Look, the sky is changing.

That is a part of celebrating Colorado.

Her weather is quite unpredictable.

I honestly don't know what this monument is commemorating.

I failed to record it in my notes.

I was more interested in getting a photo of the Peak (Pikes Peak).

It is the distant mountain in the center of the photo.

This past spring many of the hiking trails in Red Rock Canyon Open Space were washed out by spring rains.

In fact, the area had just recently reopened after the trails were repaired.  

This waterlogged field, covered in natural grasses,  was quite marshy and wet.

Look closer.

Can you see the dragonfly?

(It's barely visible in the center of the photo.)

Dragonflies, symbols of change, 

a change in perspective and self-realization,

have been showing themselves to me on several long walks Jim and I have taken this summer.

They have become an important symbol of what I have been experiencing this year.

This self realization has at its source the type of change that comes from

mental

and 

emotional 

maturity,

and from the 

understanding 

of the deeper meaning of life.  

Dragonflies have become my symbol of the entry into my seventies.

I am seventy.

I am learning to embrace the changes in my life and in my perspective of life.

I am reminded how important this time of life is when I encounter unexpected sightings of the dragonfly.

They are so magical.

Their iridescence

 reminds me that it is good to end

one's self-centered illusions.

It is time to have

a clear vision of the realities of life.*

Live in the moment.

Live life to fullest in that moment.

   Few things are more healing to the mind and the soul than walking through areas where one can observe and reflect upon nature.

I recognize and acknowledge the awesome power that created this geological specimen.

Since my earliest days I have marveled at the trees that seem to grow out of rocks.
It is a reminder that while the soil may seem unfriendly,
and
it may appear as if nothing will grow in such circumstances,
there are examples all through nature that show us
that environment is not the only predictor of growth or of survival.
Life springs forth under the worst of circumstances.
I love the lessons of nature.

Colorado,
you give us much to celebrate.
I love this place, the place of my birth.
I'm so grateful to have this beauty just a few short miles from my home.

The hike ends with a reflection.

We have found a new place to explore and enjoy.
We will be back.

Jim and Boston posed for one final photo,

while I counted these two among the blessings of my day.

* Reflection on the dragonfly were recorded in my journal earlier this summer.  I don't know where I found these definitions to the meaning of the dragonfly.  No doubt they were found on some internet search.  I did not cite the reference before I wrote these line in my journal.