Yet another Requiem

 

Sunrise over Highway 153, Utah

Apologies up front if you’ve heard enough from me about the personal side of grieving wildfire-mediated losses. The current Cottonwood Fire has consumed nearly 100,000 acres, much of which was a sacred space for me.  Yes, I understand that wildfires are part of the natural lifecycle of forests (though modern megafires are not), and that there are issues beyond my own loss, like wildlife habitat destruction.  What follows is written from a selfish perspective. Sorrow is a lonely pursuit.

 

Summer Lupines, Fishlake National Forest Utah

I stumbled upon this part of the Fishlake National Forest by accident, just three years ago.  My husband was fishing with a guide near Beaver Utah, and we needed a cooler place to camp.  We headed east on highway 153 and set up near Puffer Lake at almost 10,000 feet elevation. On the way out, we continued over the mountain toward the tiny town of Junction and saw lots of terrific camping areas along the way. We knew we’d be back.

 

Detail, Fishlake National Forest Utah

We’ve made five more trips since, for a total of about 15-20 nights.  We’ve made that area a regular stopover on the way to Park City and have had longer stays during fall color season.  Of course we didn’t think we were done exploring there.

 

The Resplendent Autumn of 2025, Fishlake National Forest Utah

Fall 2025 was particularly spectacular, and we were blessed to have arrived at the peak of fall color.  That was our most recent trip, and like most final encounters, we had no idea. It was a great experience to go out on.

I don’t have the history here that I do in the (Grand Canyon’s) North Rim Forest.  Still, this place had gotten under my skin.

 

Small Lakes near the Summit of Highway 153 in Summer, Utah

So once again I’m struggling with grief, but I also feel profound gratitude because I experienced this extraordinary place.  The loss is an apt metaphor for the process of aging.  We lose important abilities bit by bit and increasingly must get by on memory. I’ve said goodbye to rock climbing, scuba, cesarean sections, acupuncture, swing dancing, and bikinis, to name a few.

Kiss your loved ones, make hay while the sun shines, and thanks for the read.

A Disturbance in the Force

Procreate Painting

I’ve been overlanding and photographing natural settings for 13 years now, over 600 nights. These trips are so integral to my life that I confess they’re a big part of how I define myself.

The shift started with the Dragon Bravo Fire.  I’ve written about my personal connection to the land north of the Grand Canyon and the sense of loss from the fire, so I won’t go into detail now.  Since then, I’ve been working to balance grief with gratitude.  I was blessed to spend so much time in that special place.

Still, I’ve lost my favorite locale and that’s made me feel disconnected.

Earlier this year, my beloved companion, Gypsy the Wonder Dog, blew out her knee (stifle).  The surgical recovery takes 12 weeks, and I’ve been focused on her rehab.  Early in the process, I cancelled photo projects and trips so I could be with her.  I hung out at home for a much longer stretch than I’m used to doing.

Early Attempt at Cyanotype

During this time of “house arrest”, I fiddled with some new projects at home and nearby. I’ve been learning cyanotype, digital art using the Procreate app (for iPad), and have been shooting more with my phone Camera.

Dusty Sunset, Near Desert View, Grand Canyon AZ

Palo Verde Bloom near Congress, AZ

I shot a little with the big girl camera and the drone in the nearby desert when the palo verde trees bloomed and made a quick trip to Grand Canyon’s South Rim.

Looking West from North Kaibab Forest, AZ (Before and After Dragon Bravo)

Finally, Gypsy became more independent, and I planned a week in the North Kaibab Forest.  I lasted one night before an electrical glitch in the van had me scooting home early.  I had just enough time to make some images for a “before and after” series in the Dragon Bravo Fire’s burn scar.  I’m glad I went, but exploring the devastation took an emotional toll.  I drove out of that part of the forest convinced that I’d never go back.

Jones Crossing Area, Mogollon Rim, AZ

Recently I began what I thought would be a week camping on the Mogollon Rim, this time with Gypsy.  On the first day a heat wave pushed the temperature at 7000 feet to 90 degrees F.  The next day’s forecast called for even higher temps, so I retreated after one night once again, stopping to see friends on the way.

These things happen when camping, but somehow, they’ve left me more discouraged than usual and less excited about the overland experience.

As often happens when I’m amidst a time of change, I’m not sure what’s up.  Maybe this is just a down cycle in my creativity, or maybe it’s time to focus on different kinds of art and travel. I’m increasingly aware of my finite life, so I’d better figure out what I want now.  I’m bound to mess up some of the decisions, but at least I’ll make them mindfully.

Redefining myself is frightening, but maybe not so much as being stuck.