I didn’t come to want to be an architect in the usual way. It wasn’t about slick modern buildings, The Fountainhead, or even any of the timeless architectural masterpieces of our civilization. I didn’t discover architecture in a city, even though I grew up in one and became passionately dedicated to understanding and evolving our predominant settlement pattern. In fact, long before I set my sights on becoming an architect, the very first thing that I ever wanted to be was a Park Ranger. Want proof? Here you go:
That’s me in the Ranger’s hat on the right. This was taken at Yellowstone circa 1978 ish. As you can see, I’m ready to take on the world. It’s a good thing, because I’m needing that moxie right about now.
I discovered architecture before I even realized that I had discovered it… in another national park. My profession might mistakenly consider it more artifact than architecture, but the epitome of architecture for me is represented by Mesa Verde. When I first visited Mesa Verde- around the same age as the above photo- I was instantly mesmerized. What touched me deeply was this sense of humans being at home in the world, of the possibility of building a home that was fully integrated with nature. This is what inspired me to become an architect. Never seen it? Here is a photo I took about ten years ago:
I’ve been chasing the dream of Mesa Verde for what feels like a long time now. It is a difficult challenge for a culture and a settlement pattern (the city) that is so very removed from nature. While I’ve spent nearly 50 years growing up in, studying, and working on what our Vermont friends call “The Belly of the Beast” (aka Houston), my home has always been elsewhere. I come by it naturally. My grandfather on my father’s side was a mountain guide in the Colorado Rockies in his younger years. He passed his love of the mountains along to my father. Meanwhile my mother’s family loved the lakes of Minnesota and so they spent their summers in a little cabin on Martin Lake just north of her hometown of St. Paul. As for us, we spent our summers camping mostly near Durango, Colorado, but clearly visiting various parks throughout the country.
These days I find my home in my wife’s home state of Vermont. Perhaps not surprisingly, we have nested a home in the mountains and a home on the lake. I know my grandpas Roy and Sox are looking down smiling the biggest smiles. They would so love these places that I get to call home. Soon they will be home permanently. We couldn’t leave Texas, however, without visiting one of the most phenomenal national parks in the country- Big Bend.
So as I was saying, I am a mountain, forest and lake sort of person. Deserts- not so much. Same for Shannon. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Seven hikes combined for 22 miles and several scenic drives later I can say expect the unexpected. Every single hike was completely different from the other. Each landscape was surreal in its own unique way. It brought me back to this deep sense of how sacred this planet we call home really is. If you haven’t noticed in awhile, slow down and take a look. Please. I’m asking nicely. In Big Bend the wind roars its command while the rain, when it comes, pitter patters the gentle reminder that it has not forsaken us.
Species upon species have called this place home, humans included. Many are extinct. For now I am convinced that only a few roadrunners, two deer, and one jackrabbit (who we saw four times) live there. Big Bend is a reminder that the fate of a place can change radically, from sea to wetland to volcano to mountain to desert. Transformation is the law.
It will be impossible for us to find our home in the world again if we don’t get back in touch with it first. That is why it is so incredibly important to get out into nature. Not to mention, it’s humbling. I have a case in point for your entertainment. On the fourth day we were tired from the previous three days of hiking and therefore decided to take the scenic drive out to the adjacent State Park. There was a short hike called Closed Canyon that we were interested in seeing to boot. The drive and the hike were well worth it. Breathtaking! We had not paid enough attention to the map before we started the hike though. I had mistakenly thought that the hike through this canyon would land us at the Rio Grande at the other end (it wouldn’t). Then all of a sudden we ran into a pool of murky water with a steep slope on one side and a slippery slope on the other. It was an impasse that we had not anticipated.
We joined a rock climbing gym last fall and have enjoyed bouldering, although we are quite the novices and haven’t taken any lessons. Mostly, we just marvel at other people gracefully moving across the wall as if they are lovingly slow dancing with the “rock.” That’s what being at home in nature should look like- a dance. But when I am bouldering, it feels more like a fight for survival! In the gym it doesn’t bother me because there is a mat underneath and I am quite adept at falling onto mats from certain heights. Shannon was intrigued enough by the situation before us that she decided to put her new bouldering skills to the test. It would require climbing in a sideways direction with the first section looking something like a V9 at the gym. In other words, it really was just a slippery slope with not much to hold onto. Mind you, we are still struggling with the V3’s. But if you could make it past that first little section then it looked much easier. There were things to hold onto. Shannon made it across with flying colors. She made it look easy even. I told her to go scope out the next section to see if this was just an anomaly in the trail. She did and reported back that there was no more water and it appeared to go on. She came back across with equal ease.
I, however, was honestly terrified. It wasn’t that the fall was any further than at the gym. It was that there was murky water at the bottom that I imagined a snake might be living in (which may have in and of itself been irrational). I might also mention that I am a good deal shorter than Shannon and therefore don’t have as much reach. I almost walked away, but then was so disappointed to not get to the Rio Grande that I made myself give it a try. Shannon stood on the crevice under me to help support me through the tough section. I made it across! Not gracefully, mind you, but I made it. Then we took the few steps forward to the next drop off that Shannon had scoped out. I immediately saw that there was no way in hell that we would be able to get back up the next drop if we went down… nothing but slippery slope. Then looking further around the corner I saw that there was another drop into a waterway that Shannon hadn’t seen. We were, in fact, at the end of the trail (which had we bothered to fully read the map at the beginning of the trail we would have realized). Well, chalk it up to our first real bouldering experience in nature (although I had vowed I would never do such a thing). Now there was nothing to do but go back.
That’s when the problem set in. Shannon went first and had no problem. I, on the other hand, well… how should I put this. Let me just describe the scene. Imagine me sprawled out in an x position on my belly facing a steep, slippery rock with Shannon scrambling to get back under me as I am slowly sliding down the rock. She yells out “Get a grip!” O.K., well, she didn’t actually say that. She said “find your grip.” But she might just as well have said the former. In a full fledged panic, and I do mean complete out of control I am going to die panic, I yelled back “I don’t have a grip!!!!!” That much was obvious I suppose. Fortunately, she got her own footing in time to catch me and not go sliding down herself. She was then able to support me- freaked out as I was- through the rest of it. While my life wasn’t in any real danger, feeling like it was in that moment reminded me how tenuous life is. Vulnerability is a powerful teacher. And sometimes, quite the comedian. We’ll be laughing about this for the rest of our lives. I don’t reveal this often, but there is a tender reality in the heart of this prickly pear.
On another day we drove out to Terlingua, the tiny knock about town just outside of the park. There is a ghost town there that just happens to have 58 residents, go figure, and a coffee shop (thank God!). Oh, and, an art gallery. We had to stop in. The artist in residence initially seemed like she would let us be, but quickly decided to be conversational instead. She started off by informing us that she always tells visitors that if something speaks to you, the time to buy it is right now. Alrighty then. We browsed around knowing that we hadn’t come to buy art. After perusing the entire one room gallery, the last thing we came to was a stack of her paintings. As we flipped through we both saw it, but kept right on flipping without mentioning it. Then Shannon went back to this painting and read the description on the back. The artist insisted that we pull it out and take a closer look, so we obliged.
The artist, Lori Griffin, proceeded to explain that she had painted a series of goddesses over a sleepless two month period after a loved one had passed away last fall. The goddesses had visited her one by one. Let me start by saying that I am not really a goddess sort of person either, as strange as that may sound. When it comes to resonance with archetypes, I tend more toward the masculine in nature. For example, two years ago we were in Costa Rica on a retreat to celebrate my best friend Micki’s 60th birthday at Mystica, a retreat center run by another Lori, our good friend and Reiki Master Lori Myles-Carullo. (Incidentally, I highly recommend this place!) One night we each pulled cards from a deck of archetypes. I pulled Green Man… alongside a card labeled “existence”. Made perfect sense. Green Man is the ancient spirit representing the birth and rebirth of man from nature. Yes, that resonated with my state of being.
Shannon isn’t into goddesses either. Yet there was something about this one that stopped us in our tracks. The first thing was that she was translucent. And she was in a forest. And you could see the forest through the trees, I mean goddess. Shannon asked about that. Lori explained that this goddess was very hesitant to show herself. She gave only small, elusive glimpses at first. Lori sensed that she kept herself invisible for her own protection and survival. When she finally did fully appear to her, even then she remained translucent. Nor did she seemingly say anything, at least not to Lori. Lori simply painted what she saw. I just listened quietly at first. Then I took over the questioning.
What is this orange in the background? Lori began explaining to me how she had applied the orange paint. No, no, what does it represent? I mean… the forest is on fire! Oh, yes, she says. This goddess is all about the elements: water and wood (trees) specifically, but also stones and fire. This was a mountain scene, even though it isn’t readily apparent in the painting. Then she goes on to explain that she later discovered that there is a goddess such as this in the Celtic tradition. Her name is Abnoba. She was worshipped in the Black Forest region of Germany. She is the protector of woods, springs, rivers and wild animals. Ah. And this butterfly in her hand? Transformation. Yes, of course. The world is on fire and this goddess is serenely, silently standing there holding out transformation with not a care in the world. Well, I said, “we have to buy it.” You can fill in the rest. Here it is:
