Not native, that’s me. I heard the term on a recent wildflower walk and realized, yep that describes me. This year our family moved from Dallas, Texas where I was born and lived for over five decades--where I was native--to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, Colorado.
At first moving was only about physically relocating to latitude 39 degrees, 36 minutes, and 10 seconds north of the equator; longitude 105 degrees, 19 minutes and 17 seconds west of the Prime Meridian; elevation 7700 feet . Four months later I realize our new place doesn't automatically feel like home just because we've wanted to live here for years; now moving is about becoming a part of our new place. Our house is unpacked but my spirit is still figuring out where it is.
Each morning I wake seeing Mt Evans' peak through the tall ponderosa pines behind our house. Since our arrival in February several times I’m also greeted by snow that has fallen during the night, usually leaving 3 or 4 inches that quickly melts by mid-morning. The winter snow it a light powder that makes no sound as you walk through it. When the mule deer run through snow clouds of white swirl up from the ground. If the snow continues into the day it covers the backs of the deer as they sit behind our shed turning them to white stone until the sun comes out. At this altitude the sun is very bright and the snow vanishes quickly leaving small islands of white in pockets of shade; everywhere else the sandy ground dries quickly.
This has been a month of wet snow. Instead of snow falling it rains snow. During the largest storm the tree branches fill with mounds on snow until only a little of the dark trunks can be seen. The second afternoon of the storm I take a yardstick onto the deck and measure 24 inches of the snow. Two hours later it is only 20 inches as the snow settles. By bedtime it is back to 24 inches.
The next morning I measure 30 inches of packed snow. How much that would be unpacked I don’t know. Inside I feel closed in with snow visible out every window and door so I go outside. Shoveling I hear a swoosh, feel something hit my head, and I find myself enveloped in white--- I’ve just learned you don’t have to have sun for the branches to drop their loads, they just reach capacity.
When the wet snow is deep it takes several days to melt. The bark of the ponderosas is full of water and rough plates of rich orange and dark brown stand out against the snow. The intensity of each dark trunk matches the dark green of the pine needles high above; the tree is a unified whole that stretches from earth to sky.
Each day I learn a little more about my new home. The people that live in this area love to share information about the plants and animals. Then I share information with my family and friends so the facts cover me and slowly seep into my being. For years I was a visitor, then an acquaintance, then a want-to-be, now a resident in progress.
