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Going where the wind blows

Goose recently asked me why if we could feel the wind, we couldn’t see it? I thought about delving into some overly scientific explanation about air particles and light, but then I decided to answer the question through her eyes and instead told her that, “We can see the wind.”

I explained by telling her that if we stopped and stood still and took in the moment, that we could see the wind everywhere by watching how things move. Flowers curtsy, cottonseeds and feathers drift idly in no apparent hurry, Aspen leaves quake. “And storms Mommy,” she interrupts and adds her two cents.

Goose was right. Storms make the wind evident whether we see it coming not. Many people don’t stop to see the wind until it comes in the form of a tornado or hurricane. Once you’re caught unprepared in the storm, it’s easy to forget that the wind can be anything but scary. I have been guilty of this myopic way of thinking myself, especially in the last year of my life, standing out in the metaphorical storm, kicking myself for not checking the Weather Channel along the way. But I want Goose to experience the power of the wind so that when it comes into her life at full force she can remember that even the scariest of storms still come from the same wind that wildflowers dance in. So I planned to take Goose to a beautiful place to brave the wind in our faces in all of its glory.

With my 40th birthday rapidly approaching, I decided to commemorate the occasion in a place where she and I would experience nature and, most importantly the wind, with all of our senses. To a place where we would not only feel the breeze but hear it and hopefully see it, too.

I have found the natural environment has so much to teach you about yourself. If you stop to open your senses to nature, I often find that nature has a way of opening you up to your authentic self. I planned an adventure to a place where the jagged St. Sophia Ridgeline kisses the clouds and the alpenglow blushes in the background. Where wildflowers dot the landscape like sprinkles on a cupcake. To a place where the quieter you are the easier it is to hear the wind whisper back the echo of a hawk, like a rock skipping across the sky or the whistle of a marmot playing peek-a-boo in the rocks.

We would go to a place worthy of celebrating 40 darn good years of dirt under my toes and nature in my soul. So, we packed our camera, lucky hats, sunscreen, water, some Twizzlers in place of cake, her baby doll and the world’s greatest mountain dog, Porter, and headed high above Ouray to Governor Basin.

The shelf road to Governor is not for the faint of heart. The pucker factor here will get you about 4 out of 5 stars in places. Nothing will make you feel more alive or value life itself than a crumbly dirt road as wide as your wheelbase with drop offs worthy of not looking down!

If you have a fear of heights or are not an expert at such roads and don’t have a reliable 4WD vehicle, I’d suggest hiring a jeep guide to get you there. Hiring a guide comes with the added bonus of historical knowledge of the area, and we lucked out with a wonderful perspective along the way.

There is a fine line to walk, or in this case drive, between bravery and stupidity, and I didn’t want to slip off into the abyss of pride. So as a birthday gift to myself, I hired Don from Colorado West to drive, so that Goose, Porter and I could sit back in the open air, hold our breath and bounce up and down like popcorn along the way, not to mention increasing the odds that I’d live to see 41.

The white knuckle bumps, dips and drop offs reward you at the top where you can finally exhale as you look down from over 12,338 feet, into Yankee Boy Basin, across to Mount Sneffels and then behind you to see the craggy Saint Sophia ridgeline as a contrasting backdrop to a velvety green basin dotted with wildflowers that shimmer like jewels in the sun. The hills truly are alive, and I have to restrain myself from twirling with Goose in the field in some Julie Andrews-esque scene.

While we sat in the meadow, Goose whispered her perfectly rehearsed rendition of Happy Birthday, and I decided not to focus on the last 40 years or the possibility of the next 40 but on the gratitude of the present and in that moment of sweet song sitting in a field of flowers, seemingly touching the sky, a gentle breeze blew through our hair, and the wildflowers shimmered a soft applause in the background. In that glorious windswept moment, 40 washed over me, and because of Goose’s original question, I found the answer and saw the wind.

Allowing myself to simply be in the moment and to see the wind as our hair blew and we laughed at the feeling of it was the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten and hopefully a gift Goose will carry with her as she makes her way through the decades of her life, no matter where the wind blows her.

Jenny can be reached at Jennyandgooseoutdoors@outlook.com



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