hiking mondays: aspen

I was around 14 years old when I heard someone mention Aspen for the first time. Some of my high school classmates vacationed and skied there annually over winter break, so I pretty much lumped Aspen, Vail and Telluride together as ski-towns on the other side of the country (I know, what a typical east coaster). I was never really that into winter sports, but on the rare occasion that my parents did take us skiing we went to the Catskills and usually Hunter mountain- which, as it turns out, is also where my great-grandparents vacationed during the summer months. 

It wasn't until a few years ago that Aspen starting coming up in conversation...basically me telling my husband, "When we move to Colorado we should *totally* go to the Food & Wine classic in Aspen." He nodded in agreement and we both though it sounded like a good idea. But after we moved here and I started doing a bit of investigative work, I discovered that the tickets were about $1200 per person, not including hotel. So we decided to shelve that idea for the time being...

Then I saw photos of Maroon Bells, a spectacular glacial valley in Aspen that is flanked by two 14,000 foot peaks and known for its magnificent scenery and wildlife. I knew we had to go. And so we went...
On the way to the trailhead we saw a grouse and a few beavers.  We heard a rumor that there was a moose and her young calf eating somewhere along the river, but we didn't meet their acquaintance. We did, however, stumble upon a black bear who made my heart pound a bit faster as I prefer viewing wildlife from a (far) distance. There were beaver dams, aspen groves and wildflowers galore. The lake's colors shifted constantly but it was always pristine and clear. I really can not wait to go back in the fall...

We left Aspen and decided to travel back to Denver via the Independence Pass, which is opened seasonally for about 2-3 months out of the year. On the way up to the continental divide we passed a ghost town, a relic from the time when silver mining ruled the area.


Not everyone liked the whipping winds over the continental divide (look closely, you can also see where the tree line ends).

This and That
Getting there: I-70 through the canyons, then follow directions from Glenwood Springs.
Going back: Independence Pass. The drive is gorgeous but note that the road is only open a few months out of the year and will closed once the first snow arrives. You go high above the tree line (and some times the cloud line) as you pass over the continental divide. 
To Maroon Bells: We caught the Castle/Bells bus (free) at the depot on Durant Avenue. It goes to Aspen Highlands and from there you take a designated shuttle to  Maroon Bells ($6 adults, children free). You can't drive your car into Maroon Bells after 9 a.m. or before 5 p.m. due to conservation/environmental efforts. The shuttle includes a guided tour that is incredibly informative and covers the region's history, development and wildlife.
Difficulty: Easy around the lake. Would love to hike to Crater Lake, but that is further out...
Eats: We had brunch at Poppycocks Cafe. The macadamia pancakes were delicious. Other recommendations include the oatmeal pancake. 
Overnight Accommodations: We Pricelined a hotel in Snowmass and got a great deal for the Wildwood hotel. 
An Aspen Guide you might find helpful. 

raspberries + sangria

I took Otis and Theodore berry picking to Hoot N Howl, a farm in Boulder, once before. It was about 10 months ago, and as I reflect back on the time that has passed between then and now, I can't believe that we were able to make all the pieces of our life come together. We are finally living the life that we had dreamed of in Colorado...and yes, we still love to go berry picking.

Two weeks ago my friend Kelly came over to my place to pick us up, as we were taking our play date on the road. We wanted to talk and swap weekly stories, so we decided it would be better to pile into one car instead of caravanning over to the farm. We squeezed three car seats in the back, strapped the boys in (her son is good friends with my kids), and set off in the direction of Boulder. Aware of potential traffic jams along Highway 36, we armed ourselves with water bottles and good music.
When we got to the farm the boys ran around, as boys usually do. 

About a week later, my husband and I found some old videos which were filmed long before we married and long before we had kids. We were so carefree and goofy. Quite silly, really. It made me realize that somewhere along this journey called motherhood (and maybe adding a few years to my life) I've become too serious and maybe I even feel a bit rigid. I no longer spontaneously cartwheel down the street or do Olympic-floor routines on the grass of our local park. Why not? Is it age? Motherhood? Am I worn down or stressed out? I came to the conclusion that I very rarely just completely let go.

I'll admit that some habits are best forgotten and I've matured quite a bit in the decade that has past, but there's a frivolousness, a carefree-ness and a silliness in myself that I miss. I really do. And I've been thinking about that a lot these past few days, especially after looking at the boys having fun at the farm.
I came to the conclusion that I need to spend less time yelling in frustration and more time laughing, tickling and being goofy. You know, I need to be more playful!
As a mother I want to teach my children about kindness, and the values of being inquisitive, knowledgeable, positive, and thoughtful. There's a time for correction and instruction too. But I think that having a mother who is a little bit more spontaneous and just a little bit silly (in a yell-free zone) is just as important, don't you?

Draw a crazy picture, 
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb. 
Do a loony-goony dance 
'Cross the kitchen floor, 
Put something silly in the world 
That ain't been there before.” 
― Shel Silverstein

  

Raspberry Sangria

My friend Mizzy made this for us last week. Like most recipes, it is meant to be adjusted to suit your preferences. But very loosely, this is what we did:
Ingredients
1 bottle of red wine (Merlot)
1 pint of raspberries
1 cup of pure pomegranate juice
2-3 tablespoons agave
1 cup (or more) seltzer water or soda (like 7-Up)
Preparation
In a blender, combine the raspberries and the pomegranate juice. Then strain the mixture if you mind the seeds. Add the red wine. Add the agave and seltzer water (or soda). Mix it all up. Serve over ice.

george saunders's convocation speech (an excerpt)

As a mother who is trying to teach her children many things, kindness is at the top of the list.

...excerpted from George Saunders's Convocation speech to the 2013 graduating class of Syracuse University. 

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”  ELLEN was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

But still.  It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. 

 the rest of the speech.