Ouray

Up in the San Juan Mountains above Ouray, CO, is a deep bowl of wild flowers, waterfalls all set around with high, rough peaks.  The ruins of old mines are all along the jeep road that leads up to this basin, and it takes its name from the Yankee Boy mine that lies at the head of it.

Below this, also named for a mine, is the Thistledown campground where I spent a month 5 years ago as camp host, and where I met Don who kindly drove me up to a higher campground to clean.  What happened next, you already know, gentle reader.

Don’s wish was to have his ashes scattered up here in a place that he dearly loved, and last week, August 13^th, I did as he wanted.

My summer has been shaped by this mission, snow leaves this place late and comes early, so finding a summer job was out, and I had the freedom to follow whims and drift, going to rallies, and doing Habitat for Humanity builds in various places. It has been a good summer, but this last bit of my life with Don has hung over it.  I have been anxious over the slightly scary drive up, anxious that the ceremony be done right, and apprehensive of my emotions. 

I guess it is important for us to have these rites of passage, marking beginnings, milestones and ends in our lives.  These ceremonies help us find our way, and usually are chances to gather together to observe them.  But Don and I lived on the road, family and friends scattered all over the country, so as we planned together for the end, we saw no way to have anything like a traditional funeral or service.  So, gentle reader, you are the the attendees.

A dear friend and fellow H4H worker, Steve, went with me to Ouray, and drove me up the jeep road in a rented jeep as I did not want to drive my truck.  It was odd to be renting a jeep for this sad trip among the holiday crowd.  I found myself weepy at every familiar view of Ouray, and more so as we drove up. We stopped at the Thistledown camp, and chatted with the camp host there, and finally headed up the road.  Memories filled my eyes like movies, and I wept, but also I felt that Don was somehow there too. It seemed not that he was a restless spirit anxious for rest, but that he was overseeing us and approving of our trek.

We drove up to the top, and walked around. I carried his ashes in my pack as we explored, and I realized I had no idea exactly where to do this deed.  Somewhere in the vast fields of wildflowers?  On top of the waterfalls?  And as always, there were lots of people there to enjoy the place, and although I wished for solitude, Don loved talking with these folks in his job as host up here, so it was right and fitting.

Beside one set of waterfalls is an odd hillock, as round as an overturned bowl.  It had interested me before, I even found pictures of it that I had taken, and I realized that it did look like a burial mound.  So we climbed to the top and sat there while I got up my courage.  We talked about Don’s life and about life and death in general for a while and then I got out the music player and started the bagpipes playing Amazing Grace that Don wanted.  By now, we are both in tears, there is no music that undoes the heart strings like bagpipes, and I stood and scattered his ashes over the flowers on the uphill side of the mound, and said my last good byes.

Now, a week or so later, I still weep as I write this, these sad things don’t go away with ceremonies, but I find the sadness lessening and lightening in the aftermath.  And I feel that my hard and sad job of carrying Don through his end is done.  I have only to remember him.

I am glad to be here in Woodland Park, CO building hard.  This particular group has been building together for years here, they are a hard working and lively group and have welcomed me as a newcomer.  One member, almost a founding member of their bunch, died in October, his widow has come and yesterday we dedicated our day to him and spent some time remembering him.  It seems the road we are on these days, at our age, is through these valleys of the shadow of death more and more, and we have new things to learn and master.