Love the Place You’re At

These days the old folk-rock song (by Stephen Stills) keeps going through my mind: “Love the One You’re With,” except now it’s my neighborhood I’m with and that I'm getting to know intimately.

In these times of restrictions and shutdowns, I can’t get to many of my favorite places to hike. Rocky Mountain National Park is closed, which means that I can’t enjoy the waterfalls and deep pools along the St. Vrain River in nearby Wild Basin nor see the first bit of green in the meadows below the Twin Owls rock formations, where I often see a herd of elk in spring.

Around Boulder, many of my favorite trails, usually empty during the week, are crowded with hikers, dog walkers, runners and others. Not only is there no place to park, but social distancing guidelines would be hard to maintain on these crowded trails.

So I’ve narrowed my world to within a few miles of where I live, both here in Boulder and at the cabin. A mile from my home is a nature preserve (above), formed after a gravel mining operation left several open pits that filled in with water and gradually became marshes. Over decades, these ponds attracted frogs, ducks, geese, muskrats, foxes, hawks, eagles and other wildlife, while the land was reclaimed by cottonwood trees as well as cattails.

Because it’s so close, I’ve hiked there hundreds of times, so I know the land intimately. I know where the great horned owls roost, and I have a favorite cottonwood tree (above), so massive that its numerous limbs are bigger than most trees.

Because I know this place so well, I slow down and try to notice even more: last week it was an osprey couple on their platform, a kingfisher hovering above one of the ponds and, most gloriously, the sound of frogs emanating from each pond, like a huge chorus of life.

At the cabin this week, I had thought to drive down to Estes Park. Even though the park was closed, I could still walk around Lake Estes or even explore this now almost empty town, usually packed with tourists. But I had a strong feeling that I needed to stay where I was, to get deeper into the place I loved so much, notice all the spring changes around Meeker Park: the small white flowers, the aspens starting to bud out, and the pond now almost entirely free of ice. Two weeks ago, I saw my first bluebird.

If home is where the heart is, I’m just getting closer to my heart.

Comments

[Jennifer Woodhull]

Have they always been there, the fat, yellow-bellied birds inhabiting the tree outside my window in Colorado Springs? Or are they taking advantage of how quiet the parking lot and adjoining sidewalk and street have become? Did I just not notice them before?

[shoney]

Lovely. I have been walking 10 miles every day in our Santa Cruz county [Aptos] neighborhood. All the beaches and parks are closed. It is amazing how many new streets I'm finding, how many deer I see in our neighborhood, I'm loving other people's gardens [while neglecting my own]. I love the last two sentences of your post. Thank you.

[Brent Zeinert]

I've been walking closer to home myself. Places I don't normally walk around. My normal places to walk are too crowded. Like the river edge trails along the Wisconsin River. But I've been enjoying my other places actually. Almost like I'm rediscovering my neighborhood. I like to walk early in the morning when the bird life is more active and there are fewer people to encounter. My outdoor activity is usually done before noon. Like your photography too. Especially the bluebird image.

[Julene Bair]

That bluebird is simply stunning. Those of us who live near, or in natural settings, are so lucky, especially now. I'm happy for you, that your heart can bloom out into all the beauty around you.