RESTORATION.

Tis early. Tis easy. Tis Sunday morning. The sky is clear and the bright white cover turns blue like the minute hand on a clock. Yellow still graces the branches of the Willow tree. White, salty snow sticks to the leaves covering the chilled earth and spreads over every inch of our pic-nic table and bench. Still the bluebird day rolls closer and the sun reasons for warmth over Cache.


October, I still love you and we have one last week! Today I will begin a new journey without any wheels or wings. I will let this sleepy, quiet town restore me as I start, for the very first time, the Master Cleanse. Sarah, my shooting meteor and I embark on this quest for health together. She tells me it will be a trip like I've never known. The off-season presents favorable timing with Halloween as our sole distraction to break code. This journey yeilds purification of the body and I'm hoping clarity of mind will echo.


Leaving you with love, a light heart, and an empty suitcase.


Catail

OCTOBER.

Luminous. Radiant. Aglow. All adjectives I use to describe my soul in this sinful moment in time. Sinful as the new snow-dusted mountains amid the changing leaves and busy sky, the decadent Cardamon Chocolate Puddin I savored layer by layer over a travel memoir and steamed, cinnamon milk,  a morning at the shop with the most beautiful angler I know, 3 ravenous appetites at the Moose, an afternoon of long anticipated therapeutic massage, the startling touch of my sexy, shaven legs and a girls night at Hogge's with her world famous goat cheese quesadillas and a menagerie of Malbecs.

This perfect day's not through. May our lives behold 1 more rain shower, 1 last humbling circumstance, an infinity pool of confidence & a Hoot intwined with purpose. Perpetual.

Welcome, October!

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KELLY, WYOMING.

INDIAN SUMMER.

I guess I am "addicted" like dad says. Again I have traveled back to Jackson Hole, WY, my "home base" of the past 2 years with hopes to recover in the heights of its mountains, heal in the calm of its waters and reach clarity in the refuge of its purple and golden valleys. 

The chilly winds begin to blow here but the hot sun faithfully warms our spirits as we all wish for an Indian Summer. No ceremonial snow dances around the fire yet as we hint to the weather gods for just a little more time to run barefoot, float Flat Creek, hike the Middle Teton, mountain bike the Old Teton Pass or rope the night away at the rodeo grounds in Wilson. 

The 3 month anniversary of my legendary fall in Cuzco is right around the bend. On July 1st, I suffered compression fractures to my thoracic spine at T4, T5 and T6. On that morning, as my feet kicked up and I was suspended over an ancient Inca stairway, I surrendered my fate and knew that this is it. Breaking my back was a defining moment of my life.  

I was not able to call out for help, the wind had been knocked out of me and I was in more excruciating pain than I'd ever known. It was just me and my guardian angels until my cousin Anne-Marie ran to my rescue. Together we both witnessed the wiggling of my fingers and toes and instantly the worst day of my life became the best. I knew that when I was ready, I would rise and walk and hug and run again and make love, too. You know, all of the big things us healthy people take for granted every single day. 

Halfway into my predicted recovery time, it is easy to see that the single ice cream bar I was given to ice my back (only in Peru) in many ways foreshadowed the unpredictable humor and unprecedented joy that would follow this injury. When life hands you an ice cream bar, you better bet I'm going to take a bite! So there was my best friend and me, making light of my pitiful state before shoving the sacrificial treat under my back to counter the inflammation. 

Then to my delight arrived Bruno and Andrea with all 10 of their musical instruments. I met this dashing couple from Brazil and Austria weeks before at one of Andrea's hang shows and had been their most resilient fan ever since. Their songs rescued my shocked body and troubled mind for hours as all 4 of us laughed and took long deep breaths and gave thanks for saving grace and friends. Thank God I was not alone. Perhaps this music also foreshadowed the music to come... 

Days and weeks and months have passed since that last day in Cuzco. I have pushed the limits of my body and mind like never before and accomplished seemingly impossible things for a gal with a broken back. This has been a season of transitions. A transition home after sailing, my pilgrimage through South America and back country explorations, a transition towards health through discipline and therapy after brokenness, a transition of my heart into life as a single woman after an incredible relationship's end. 

I am so thankful for all of the love and support in my life. Tis overflowing and given me reason for my positive outlook and courage to push through even when I don't know exactly where I'm headed.

Sending visions of yellow cottonwoods by the river, paths covered with fallen aspen leaves, and stick shift driving lessons in an old civilian jeep through the national park, 

Catherine

WATERCOLOR.

WaterColor, what a dream land. This welcoming beach community is named ever so perfectly with the hues of the sea and the sky changing like a living water color painting. It's been over a year since I have ventured down to this ocean paradise along the Gulf of Mexico in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida. And how I was amazed. I could travel the whole world round and not see sand so soft and white like sugar, water so turquoise and clear as a newly drawn bath, and skies so gracefully boasting both sunrise and sunset over the ocean.


My "Queen" Christen invited me down to her family's happy abode for a relaxing Labor Day gettaway. There were 6 of us in all, including Hartford who decided to come down last minute. My brother and I were the first to arrive on Friday afternoon and lost no time plunging into the cool, salty wave pool and hitting the local Publix supermarket for mostly booze and a little grub to get us through the weekend. Seaside's live music in the grass lawn blooming with dozens of families flirted with our desire for a pic-nic on the beach at sunset. I was eager to teach Hart the right way to watch the sun go down: On the beach, with a celebratory drink, shared with another, over good conversation... and laughing is sure to follow.



Before we knew it we were marveling over the full, orange harvest moon rising ever so slyly in the twinkling sky. We watched stars bursting through the heavens and satelites steadily creeping ore the vast space evoking memories, stories, philosophy and an urgency to call just about every one we knew to share the beauty of our all but simple, all but free, perfect bliss. We tried our darndest to stay up for the arrival of the troops: 1 Ironman, 1 fashionista, 1 trial lawyer and 1 groovy sweetheart. But after making some noise with the guitar and jembe drums on the front porch, sharing an awful cigarette and improvising some obnoxiously pleasing song, we retired to bed with teeth stained red and dreams of bicycles, spider man goggles, YOLO paddling, roof top margaritas and jiving old men at Bud and Alley's.


I loved practicing the art of eating in, front-porch sittin, crawling in and out of the window like a ninja, answering the call of the sea a dozen times a day, rising early to paint watercolors on the beach amid the puppy dogs and fishermen and most of all getting this quality time with those I adore. Thank y'all for filling me up with more happiness deemed sane. I love you Hart, Christen, Morgan, Clint, Don and Miss Dawn and Mister Draper.