Greeting 2020

Posted on January 1, 2020 by Laura Lindblom under hiking, Photography, Writing

We (Mom, Sarah, and I) welcomed the new year and the new decade from Harney Peak, the highest point east of the Rockies! It was a beautiful, crisp morning, the stars were glorious at 6am, the snow crunched pleasantly underfoot, and the wind was gentle enough for us to actually de-layer shortly into the hike.

There wasn’t even a hint of dawn when we started up, and we trudged along in the dark, our headlamps casting pleasant shadows in the snowy woods. There were a few other cars at the trailhead, and evidence along the way of other first-day hikers, including this snowy tribute to the new year:

And then the first day of the year dawned: gloriously, slowly, from diamond-studded black, to silver and blue skies, then lavender, then pink and orange and scarlet, with the tips of granite spires just kissed with the first light. We reached the tower in the glow of the first sunrise, and watched the light spread over the Hills.

The wind was fierce at the Tower (it always is), and with a bitter edge, so we took shelter in the basement, warming ourselves with hot, black coffee and a snack before heading back into the wind.

The hike down was even more beautiful than the hike up, now that we could see the sculpted snowdrifts, the sun sparkling through the trees, and the sky and its blueness overhead.

What a wonderful way to bring in this new year and new decade, with two of my favorite people, doing one of my favorite things, on one of my favorite trails, in my (current) favorite place in the world, on the tip top of our highest peak, reveling in and wandering around and gazing at God’s beautiful handiwork.

I love experiencing the firsts of the new year.

The first morning.
The first drive.
The first hike.
The first time up Harney Peak.
The first picture taken.
The first cup of coffee.
The first sweet family time.
The first prayer.

The new year comes, fresh, unstained, and (from our perspective) unwritten. We do a pretty good job of staining it as soon as we open our eyes or our mouth on New Year’s morning, but the freshness and excitement and sense of newness remain, the gladness of a fresh start. There are things I’m anticipating, things I’m excited about, things I’m not looking forward to. But I’m glad to know I serve a sovereign LORD who isn’t just writing my story, as if He is still in the process of figuring it out. He has written it, already.

I wonder what He will choose to bring to this new year? I wonder what growing, what joy, what delight, what blessings and struggles and trials and pain? What adventures? What changes are coming that I haven’t even thought of yet? What triumphs? What failures? What of Christ will I see or learn that I haven’t yet known? How will He refine me?

2020 is open like a brand new book. I’m excited to read the story.

Happy New Year!

Let It Ring in Your Hearts

Posted on December 31, 2019 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

This is one of my favorite Christmas pieces from the past, and I wanted to share it again. A new year, but the same sentiments. We serve a wonderful LORD.

Song Dog Journal

Today is New Year’s Eve. Christmas was 6 days ago. Every year, Christmas approaches with much anticipation. And every year it leaves with a sigh, ho-hum, and back we go to finish out the year. In truth, we’re probably glad when Christmas is over and done with. Sure, it was fun, we have some sweet family memories, less money in our checking account, a gift or two we were probably excited to receive, and it is just time to get on with what remains of the year.

What a loss. What a loss that we don’t carry with us for the rest of the year, or the whole year, the joy and excitement and awe of the Christmas season. Or is it because we fail to see and experience the joy and excitement and awe that Christmas should bring?

I’m not sure how to properly express the magnitude of all…

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Hiking | Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim, Part 2

Posted on December 27, 2019 by Laura Lindblom under hiking, Photography

Fourteen miles down. Ten to go. And there was Phantom Ranch! We arrived gratefully at Phantom Ranch around 10am (we made really good time!), and took a lovely lunch break. We took time to change socks, rehydrate, and mail postcards from the canteen, which were stamped with the words “Delivered by Mule.” We visited with other hikers and runners, and finally got back on the trail, right into the heat.

The sun was high by now. And we three poor northern girls were definitely missing the cool of the morning. But we slathered on sunscreen, sported our brimmed hats and chugged plenty of water and electrolytes. We were good to go. The distance between Phantom Ranch and River Resthouse passed quickly, and we enjoyed the long views up and down the Colorado as we crossed the long span of the Silver Bridge, and a bighorn sheep posing beautifully for us next to the trail.
It was after the River Resthouse that the hiking started to get harder. We felt the miles behind us, and still had nine to go. And now the elevation gain started. When you’ve already hiked 14 miles, and now the elevation starts, oh, you feel it. You feel it.
First comes The Corkscrew:

The Corkscrew is an intimidating series of bigger and bigger switchbacks, bringing you out of a small canyon up into a larger one. The switchbacks seemed endless, and now we were hiking in the sun and the heat. It took forever to reach Indian Garden Resthouse, and then we had four and a half miles to go, with 3-Mile Resthouse and 1 1/2 Mile Resthouse splitting up the rest of the distance.
Indian Garden was memorable. They were doing construction of some sort and had a crazy helicopter thing bringing in equipment and taking stuff out. When we finished and were looking down into the canyon, we could still see it, 3000 feet below. Amazing.

The last three miles were the toughest of all, and possibly the most beautiful. The sun was dipping lower and a shadow was spreading over the trail, so the heat was no longer as much of an issue. But by now, we had already hiked 21 miles. With the whole canyon spread out behind us, and with us slowly creeping our way up the precarious side of the canyon, the bigness of the canyon was overwhelming and awesome.
We could catch glimpses of the next resthouses, or glimpses of the Rim, and we could see trail and switchbacks that we were aiming towards way in the distance or way overhead, hundreds or thousands of feet up. If we looked hard, we could barely make out other hikers, looking as small as fleas. I’ve never felt so small in my life. At Indian Garden, there still is 3000 feet of vertical gain left. At 3-Mile, there is 2100 feet left. And at 1 1/2 Mile, there is 1100 feet left. We knew we were getting closer, but until you’re done, the hiking is just plain hard.

From here on out, certain groups looked tireder and tireder, while others looked fresher and fresher (and less equipped, fit, or able. Flip-flops, for instance, 1500 feet below the rim). It was easy to pick out the day hikers from the Rim-to-Rim hikers. But Sarah and Jenny both commented on (and we all laughed at) the pitying, “judge-y” looks we received from clean, fresh-looking hikers who clearly were wondering how we could be so tired and worn-out looking so close to the South Rim.

And then we could see the end of the trail, and those last few hundred yards felt everlasting. We emerged at Bright Angel Trailhead shortly after 5pm, for a Rim-to-Rim time of just under 13 hours.
It was awesome. And terrifying. And exhilarating. And beautiful in ways I never expected.
And I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Hiking | Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim, Part 1

Posted on December 27, 2019 by Laura Lindblom under hiking, Photography

Finally!! This post series has been much anticipated and at last is ready to publish! Easily the highlight adventure of this whole year was training for and hiking a one-day Rim-to-Rim at the Grand Canyon in early October, with roughly 2 months of training hikes leading up to our trek. As a hike that makes it into the Backpacker Magazine list of top ten most dangerous hikes due to the heat in the summer, this is one I highly anticipated, and is the first hike of this caliber I’d ever done. What an adventure!

The Rim-to-Rim is a 24 mile hike boasting roughly 5000 feet of elevation gain (as well as 6000 feet of descent), exposed trail, amazing views, and the exuberance at the end of finishing such a monumental hike. The recommended time to take for this hike is 2-3 days according to the official literature, and the beginning of the Bright Angel Trail (the end of the trail for us) sports this lovely, inviting sign of a poor sunburned guy vomiting:

There were lots of reasons for us choosing to do it in one day, but probably the biggest reason was the challenge. Just the challenge. It didn’t disappoint.

We got started in the wee hours of the morning on Monday, October 7. We had slept (sort of) for three hours or so in our car on the North Rim at the North Kaibab trailhead. We were all so excited, I’m not sure how much we actually slept. Then in the cold and dark, we got ready, bundling up against the winterish 27 degrees, excitedly greeted another group of early morning hikers in hushed tones, and with the adrenaline waking us up fast, set the first foot on the North Kaibab trailhead.

It was pitch dark at 4:20am, and the beams from our headlamps illuminated a sandy trail and heavy brush and trees on either side. The walking quickly became rather hypnotic. Walking in the dark is a strange feeling, without the changing scenery of the daytime, either for interest or perspective. We couldn’t see depth or distance, or the steepness of the terrain, or the switchbacks below us. We didn’t get far in before we realized we were not alone on the trail, and could see headlamps bobbing behind us and before us. What a strange sight, stories and stories below, headlamps bobbing along in the dark.

The trail wound along the canyon walls in series of switchbacks, until we could look back up and see again a trail of headlamps. How pleasant, and how strange. For an hour and more, that was all the perspective we got of the bigness of the canyon, the distance and closeness, both, of the headlamps in the dark.

Then the light. Our eyes were dazzled in the pale, dim light by the heights, and dropoffs, the winding trail clinging precariously to the sheer canyon sides, the color, and the signs of beautiful desert life. Prickly pear, huge and with large purple fruits, other strange cactus plants with towering spires 15 feet tall, plants that looked like yucca or mangave relatives. All beautiful and strange.

One of the best parts of this hike was the trail camaraderie, which began early on. One hiker in particular is a special memory, as we leapfrogged with him and his hiking partner for the first 14 miles. Mark encouraged and cheered us on, as a veteran Grand Canyon hiker, which was a huge boost to the morale of our little group.

Water stops were anticipated and appreciated, and hikers congregated in them for breaks and hydration and to use the pit toilets. There really is no place to go privately unless you use the pit toilets. The first stop was Manzanita Rest Area. Five miles was done. Nineteen miles left.

About 6 miles in, we had our first view of the South Rim, hazy and indistinct in the distance:

It was exhilarating and rather terrifying and beautiful and awe-inspiring. It was so far away, so small in the distance, and so high up. That was where we were going. And at this point in the trail, we felt great. The trail was easy, temps were cool, we weren’t yet sore or tired, other than some knee pain I had anticipated and was managing with soft braces and Ace wraps on both knees (this was preventative, since I’d been having knee pain leading up to the hike), and a sturdy hinged knee brace for my right knee for the descent. I looked gimpy, but who cares?

I was surprised at how green and lush the canyon was. The trail follows a creek nearly the whole way, and the moist smell of water loving plants was unexpected. It was deliciously cool and fresh.

It was all a countdown to Phantom Ranch, which, though not the true halfway point, feels like a halfway point. But first, the Box.

We got to the infamous Box before the sun had even touched it, one of the most dangerous parts of the hike if you don’t get through it before the sun hits it. The narrow, steep sides of this four-mile stretch of canyon are dark stone which soaks up the heat, causing dangerous temperatures reaching well into the triple digits.

At last the Box was behind us and Phantom Ranch wasn’t far beyond. And it was starting to get warm!

So Winter Comes

Posted on December 25, 2019 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Winter officially arrived three days ago, but winter has come and gone multiple times for us already, starting a couple months ago. The biting cold, the crystalline blue skies, the heavy-billowed clouds, the flowers of ice on windows, the stars of frost glinting in the light of an early morning.

We’ve already had snowstorms and blizzards, days of being homebound, listening to the howl of the wind and relishing the whirling snow outside, with the comfort of warmth from our wood stove, fire roaring pleasantly, flickering through the smudged and blackened windows that give a glimpse into the heart of embers glowing inside. We’ve had wind-pummeled days, sleet-stinging days, fog-enveloped days, frost-bejeweled days, and those days of glorious warmth when winter draws back a little and the mercury reaches tentatively into the 40s, or even the 50s, coaxing out sandals and short sleeves, before plummeting again.We’ve sat around a dinner table lit by candles, eating Vienna sausages and deviled eggs, waiting for the power to come back on, but secretly (or not so secretly) enjoying being without. We’ve read by flashlight or firelight, feeling the cold creep in, but kept at bay by the stubbornness of the fireplace or stove. We’ve gazed in awe at a world transformed, and tromped gleefully through knee-high drifts between Mom and Dad’s house and our house, along an unplowed and undriveable driveway.

So winter comes. Welcome, and stay.

The Last Harvest

Posted on December 24, 2019 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

The year is winding down to a close. How did that happen? Where does the time go? Another year, rapidly wrapping itself up. Parts of this post would have been better a month ago, but they are sentiments I wanted to share after my hiatus this fall. It has been a year of change, struggle, blessings, joy, and so much else.

Christmas is tomorrow, and it will be the first Christmas without Grandma. Leading up to Grandma passing away in April, and ever since, there has been the anticipation of impending change. As long as Grandma was with us, we had a home here, but as often happens in situations of family property, the property will need to sell, and our home here will be gone. That’s a fact I try not to dwell on, and the LORD has graciously given me a peace about that, which years ago I never expected. But whether we have another 8 months or 2 years here, the feeling of settledness isn’t there. I know change is on its way.

Through much of this year, there has been the faintly bitter, wistful knowledge of the inevitable “last time.” The sense that the wanderings on the property this summer or fall may indeed have been “the last time” I’d comb for wildflowers or ramble among our trees or scramble our hills. Putting up a Christmas tree in our cabin may have been “the last time” we’d enjoy that tradition here. I anticipate a sweet sorrow tomorrow on Christmas as we celebrate, quite possibly, “our last Christmas here.”

That knowledge is heavy with sadness, though also light with anticipation. God will provide. He always does. And it is always better than I could imagine.

But this heaviness has driven me to remember and to do and to be. There have been things I’ve deliberately done in order to not miss doing them one last time. For instance, when the apple trees down the hill from Mom and Dad’s were heavy with fruit this fall, I knew we needed to harvest them. It doesn’t take overly long to pick two trees worth of fruit, and we shook those apples down, filling a couple of good sized buckets. The apples were delicious, and became apple butter and apple crisp.

Picking apples from Grandpa’s trees likely was our last harvest from those trees. And it was the best harvest of all the years we’ve been here. God is so good.

As 2019 wraps up and comes to a close, I anticipate that this time next year I will have moved on, either elsewhere in the Black Hills or elsewhere altogether. My life here on the family property has been like an apple tree ripe, laden with fruit. The fruit setting on the tree are those memories and experiences that are shaping who I am, those blessings that God has set beautifully among the spreading branches, that have made up the beauty and color and flavor of my life here.There has been fruit that has grown and ripened that is specifically the result of living here, fruit ranging from the sweetness of deepened family relationships to the zesty excitement of a new direction vocationally. Had I been living elsewhere, without the backdrop of the Hills (particularly my little corner of it) to awaken my imagination to new possibilities, to spark ideas and creative pursuits, to challenge me physically, to grow me spiritually, or had I beem living in a place that drained me financially, I might be in a very different place from where I am now.

Life is like an orchard, each tree a different chapter in our lives. It is sad to think that this year here may be the last year to be harvesting from this beautiful little tree I’ve been enjoying for the last five years.But it has been a good harvest. A sweet harvest.