Protecting Our Peace
It was my first pack trip of the summer and I was late.
As I threw random necessities into my paniers, I knew I probably should have stayed home to catch up on the tower of paperwork sitting on my kitchen table.
But my friend the Weed Queen was already on her way to the trailhead and I had blocked these days on my calendar for a month.
Two women, three dogs and four horses on the trail for one long weekend.
As we loaded the packs, I realized I remembered my pistol but forgot my toothbrush.
I remembered dinner but forgot my bridle.
I remembered dog food but left it in a bag on the kitchen floor.
I don’t forget necessities.
Months of manufacturing kitchen startup challenges must have frazzled my brain more than I thought.
But all was well.
I could ride my horse with a halter, brush my teeth with a shrub and feed the dogs leftover dinner.
We set up the tent in a small glade next to a creek while we finished venting about life’s various trials and tribulations.
Every single time I ride into Nature’s cocooning scents and sounds, I marvel at how the vast space of granite, spruce and wildflowers; the steep trails and creeks that sing and roar can wrap around me, slowing my breathing and emptying my mind.
My shoulders were still tense as we watched the northern lights while the campfire burned low, but I could sense the mountains working their magic.
The purring creek, easy intermittent conversation and the spreading green glow across the dark sky replaced whatever had seemed important back home.
I couldn’t remember what that had been and I didn’t care.
The next morning, as I kneeled amid the myriad of meadow foliage, I discovered a tiny wild strawberry.
I popped it into my mouth -- quick before one of the dogs gobbled it.
Blooming bear grass, Indian paintbrush and a host of other wildflowers waved at us as we rode along to our next camp.
Unfortunately, so did knapweed, the thief of native plant diversity.
Noxious weeds are to wildlands as subdivisions are to farmlands.
They both destroy the land’s health, productivity and beauty.
Even as we let the mountains wash away civilization’s demands, we were on a mission.
Last summer we discovered invasive cockleburs overwhelming our beautiful little spot on Crazy Creek.
We pulled a lot of them then, but a person never gets them all.
This trip, our plan was to decimate the plants we missed, hopefully reducing the weed’s competitive advantage so native grass and flowers could flourish again -- so we could pop sweet wild strawberries into our mouths again.
We hobbled the grazing horses, ate lunch and pulled cockleburs -- until my laid-back, anything-goes pack horse decided it was time to go home.
In fact, within 24 hours he made this executive decision so often that I tested chasing him in spurs versus chasing him in rubber camp shoes.
My current null hypothesis is that neither is ideal.
The next morning brought slow conversation, sunshine and sparkling water.
Eventually, we pointed the horses home.
It’s amazing how much faster horses walk toward a trailer.
They only had to pause at a patch of knapweed.
At first, what seemed like a vulnerable speck on the landscape grew larger and more menacing as we looked closer.
The Weed Queen traipsed up and down the hillside, roots and stems arcing behind her, while I held lead ropes and pulled invaders from the trailside.
We didn’t get all of them, but we made a big dent.
We’ll just have to go back to get the rest.
After all, we must protect our peace.