My recent job is close enough to where I live that I can ride my bike to work. The bicycle that I have is a black, old-style bike with upright handlebars and a wide seat. Riding it down the dirt road that we live on immediately brings back memories of childhood summers in the…
Tag: Mountain Woman
Stepping Back from the Edge
I was 27-years-old and I’d taken a railway train up the Jungfrau, in Switzerland, and arrived at a cold, cloudy plateau. I walked out along the icy pathway, ducking under yellow warning tape meant to call attention to the precipice just beyond. I continued towards the edge. Down below was a soft fluffy bed of…
Leading with Her Heart
I once had a teacher who offered the following exercise to our class of student yogis and healers, a lesson in “opening your heart.” We teamed up in pairs, standing close, facing one another. For three minutes, one member spoke a litany of made-up criticisms and insults to the other member. It was a…
Spirits of the Mountains
Not much is known about the Inca tribes of the Andes, except that they chose to build their vast stone cities on some of the most precipitous mountain peaks in the world. I have been to Peru and climbed among several of these ancient sites: the mysterious citadel of Machu Picchu, the Pisac ruins…
Cherishing Simple Days
Living sequestered has brought about some unusual changes in our household. Time is more fluid, beginnings and endings less defined. Some of the structure and the behaviors that held things together seem less important. These days, there are no discreet individual projects; one seems to lead into the next. Replacing doorknobs and hinges leads to…
Getting Back To The Garden
I keep wondering how our garden back in Breckenridge is doing. Alan and I are away for a few weeks, in Maine. Before we left Breckenridge we tidied up everything, inside and out—cleaning and vacuuming the house, mowing the lawn, weeding the flowerbeds. The daffodils were fading but the tulips were still blooming in…
Podcast: Going West
In 2014, I moved from South Florida to the Rocky Mountains. I was 52-years-old; I had plenty of flip-flops but no warm coat, no money, and not much of a job. But I was in love. Going West, recorded recently, was the first of many pieces I’ve written over the past five years for our…
christina holbrook 