Following Your Instincts

I moved to Denver rather reluctantly, but once I was here it was clear I was staying.
Starting with the beautiful, nearby mountains - the fact that snow falls in the mountains and stays there, making winter in the city rather dry and far less miserable than the snow-constantly-on-the-ground-from-november-to-march variety that Nebraska offers. Then there's the lack of humidity both summer and winter - making summers more bearable and winters less bitter. (score)  Likewise, due to the lack of humidity - mosquitos are rare here.  A HUGE plus because mosquitos love the taste of me, so it's advantageous that they're less likely to find me here.

One of my favorite activities here in Colorado is hiking. It's so beautiful here, and there are plenty of short hikes near the city that if I were ambitious enough, I could get a hike in after work during the week... but I don't. I save my hikes for the weekends... and for a while I wasn't going because I didn't always have a hiking partner and I didn't feel it was safe to go alone due to the nature of things that can go wrong... (Aron Ralston anyone?) and warnings of rattlesnake sightings posted on nearly every trail.  But in all my hikes, I never once saw a snake of any kind. I got to the point that I figured they must be pretty rare - if not for all the signs indicating otherwise.

Today, I accepted an invitation from a man I met at church. For our first date, he proposed a hike not far from one of my regular jaunts. This trail began an incline from the trailhead, so I was working pretty hard compared to the gradual incline on the trail to which I'm accustomed. It was also a bit more dense with dry brush - or perhaps the footpath just wasn't as wide, but as a result we had to walk one after the other instead of next to each other. I'm a rather fast walker, and when I hike with my girlfriends I tend to go first, or else I just end up overtaking them. So I just sort of followed my habit and ended up leading my date.

It was a narrow path so I was looking down most of the time to maintain my footing. We were on a ridge, and I couldn't really see where the path was leading. We passed a marker and my date told me that it indicated we were out of park bounds beyond that point.  It didn't quite register with me, considering that the path was equally worn going forward, so I kept going. Perhaps I should have asked a few questions about where we should go.

Not 20 feet later, I screamed. I heard him ask what was wrong, and somehow the words, "Snake! Rattlesnake!" made their way out of my mouth.

The snake had been sunning itself on the path, detected us coming and by the time I noticed it, it was mostly coiled under a rock (still on the path) it's tail pulling in behind and it's body rearranging so in that moment I saw it's head emerge to check me out. Gah!
With it's head aimed at me, all coiled up and rattling - he couldn't be more imposing! The ugliest sight I've ever encountered- and I'm not normally afraid of snakes!

It's amazing how quickly the survival mode/flight instinct prevails. Adrenaline must have kicked in - because in that split second I recalled that a rattler could strike, throwing itself the length of it's body to do so... and in that same split second, I evaluated that I was less than a Tammy-length away from the snake. (and he was most likely a Tammy-length long!)

We beat a retreat... but at the same time, a part of me (my inner journalist - it's an instinct too!) really wanted to take a picture of the rattlesnake. I may have seen the rattler first, but I knew that my date saw the snake instantly after I announced it. I think he said, "Let's get out of here." or something similar.
Fortunately, we were quickly a safe distant from the threat and I asked my companion if I had screamed. "Yes, you screamed.  But you were backing up at the same time."  I was glad to hear that, because I would hate to be the type that stupefies under pressure!

I was surprised that I screamed, because I've never really been scared of snakes... but by that I'm referring to Nebraska snakes; bull snakes, garter snakes... nothing venomous. They're not threats, they're just ugly. I think being that close to a rattlesnake, your body just knows that you're in danger!

Then my date told me that he had been ready to throw me on his back and run, (which is kind of hot!) and I knew that he would have - I could see it about him. We were still walking (back the trail head) at that point, and I asked if we could stop because I needed to freak out for bit! He acquiesced. I did a little eebie jeebie shake and made noises resembling "Gah!" "Blech" and "Ugh."

Although I screamed initially, I still think I was rather composed in the heat of the moment. I described myself as scared but rationally, I knew I was fine - but that I was threatened. What I identified as fear was most likely adrenaline kicking in. The human body is wonderfully designed! (Praise God!) 

We (my date and I) continued to talk about it.  I'm not sure if he was just placating me or if he was equally as disturbed about the encounter - though I believe that he was.  I kept trying to shake off the creepiness when I saw him extend his arms... then put them back down before asking, "Do you need a hug?"  "Yes, I think I do!"

I thought it was so sweet that he asked, even though he had already sensed that was what I needed and was instinctively ready to provide it.

It's pretty remarkable, how God builds those instincts into each and every one of us... whether it's to flee from danger or to comfort one another.

I'm not sure how riveting this story is to anyone out there... but it was an experience I wanted to document for myself... same as I want to document my memories of Dad. 
In fact, I was sharing the story with my nephew over the phone tonight, and realized how much I would have loved to tell Dad this rattlesnake story, and how Dad would have loved to hear it.  So startling, the little ways I miss him. 

Bending the Rules

I was blessed with a childhood on a working farm and ranch. Wide open spaces, places to explore... discover... traverse and understand.

We had fields of corn, alfalfa, and soybeans... pastures teaming with cattle and pens filled with pigs. There were usually two dogs in rotation and loads of cats.  Most people refer to them as feral cats but I had a knack for taming them. A litter of kittens would be born in some remote location... out-building, barn, an old tractor tire... and by the time the mama cat would wean them and teach them to mouse they'd be a bit wild before they ventured around the humans, then hissing and dashing off.  I usually had them begging for a good scratching before long, and by that point the cats would all be hanging around the back steps of our house or sunning themselves on our huge lawn.

That drove my dad nuts, cats underfoot whenever he left the house! Better that though, than to violate his rule.  (He didn't have or enforce many rules but this one was firm...) No Animals in the House. 

With acres of land and plenty of barns and sheds, Dad said there was no reason to have animals in the house.  The house was for humans. Barns were for animals.  He assured us, even if it was cold that the dogs and cats had sense to lay with the cattle in the barn.  It's the natural way.

Of course, every kid wants to test the rules... and whenever I tried to smuggle a kitty inside for extra cuddling it only lasted until I heard his booming voice, "Get that cat out of the house! They don't belong inside!"

Now, I had the sort of childhood that instilled respect for my parents.  They never spanked and rarely punished us... but we also knew better than to test them.  While I was never spanked (except once when he was 'pretending/threatening' to spank me - which was more horseplay than anything else) ... still, I was certain that form of punishment wasn't off the table if I did something to warrant it!

Back to the respect... by the time I heard his booming command, I had taken enough satisfaction in the sneak that I had the cat back outside within two minutes.  Usually because the cat wasn't nearly as cooperative as I had hoped at the start of the endeavor!

Dad relented enough in cold weather to grudgingly tolerate cats in the attached garage when it was freezing... but then I earned the task of making sure any messes were swiftly cleaned up. Tight ship and all.

Even so, on bitter-cold nights, Dad would come in from chores - his coveralls filthy with mud and manure and wet from snow.  His first stop was the garage, warm enough to thaw out and slip out of his outerwear without bringing the stink and mess in the house.

As a little girl, I could hear the outside door slam and knew Dad was 'almost home'.  Usually, I would crack the door and have a little chat.  As I got older, I would work on homework at the kitchen table and I could overhear him cussing at the cats for making a mess, and listen to him hiss for them to get out!

With all those firm rules in place, I knew my dad was no-nonsense. This was his house, his rules - and the cats didn't rank high enough to pester him at the end of his work day. Some days I pitied the poor cats for their instincts to keep warm - ignorant that they would face his wrath!

Until one day, in my teenage years when I heard Dad come into the garage and other sounds indicating  that he was sitting on the steps to pull off his filthy boots.  I heard his voice lower than usual and went to the door to listen... imagine my shock to hear his sweet voice saying, "Ah yes, you're a nice kitty aren't you? Yes. Are you staying warm?"

SHOCKED! After all those years my impression of Dad did an about-face in a split second!

I'm not saying he was this stern, always-tough guy. He was just a dad who knew it was important to command and earn respect from his children.  He made sure his kids knew what he expected, but also that rules could bend.

My First Memory

The very first moment of consciousness that I can recall, I must have been two or three years old.
I remember being in church during Mass.  Of course I didn't know it was church at the time - for some reason I thought we were at one of Mom's meetings.  No idea why I thought that.  (Her meetings at that time would have been the Ladies Guild at church, or something like it, considering she was a stay-at-home -mom / farm wife.) 

Something more stands out.  I remember that I was in Dad's arms.  As a toddler, I was standing with my feet on the back of the pew in front of us, with Dad supporting me to stand.

I love that that is my first memory.
Looking back, it's sort of full circle.

Dad gave me a strong foundation of faith, raising me in the Catholic Church. From my earliest moment, I can remember Dad supporting me.  Physically in this case - but his support never ceased - even when I was making decisions not everyone understood.  All the while, my dad supported me.

This is the earliest photo of me that I know of, 

taken on the day of my Baptism.