Rocky Mountain Nature – Carmel Mawle

On Winter Solstice

December 21, 2025 admin Comments 4 comments

Growing up in Alaska, summer days were long and warm and generous. No sooner had the sun dipped into Cook Inlet, than it began its climb back into the sky. In the winter, the opposite was true. Winter’s long nights stretched their cold tendrils into the day.

That said, I remember being mystified by my parents’ friends who headed south for the cold months. Even our darkest night contained light. The Alaska state flag honors that light with seven stars of gold on a field of blue. My winter days were spent beneath a multitude of twinkling stars, the moon, and undulating aurora borealis. Reflected light glistened from fields of snow and frost-covered trees. My childhood winters were not dark, they were magical.

Maybe I’d have felt differently if I’d been commuting by car to work every day. My sister and I cross country skied two miles (uphill both ways) through wilderness to the paved road, where we caught the school bus. We buried our skis in the snow bank there, so we could retrieve them at the end of the school day. Then, with stars studding the sky, we made the same trip home again.

In the winter, the teachers flooded the playground and created an ice rink where we played crack-the-whip. We built snow forts, snowmen, and had snowball wars. We shoveled the pond in the woods behind our A-frame for our own bumpy rink, and brought thermoses of hot cocoa to warm our hands and cheeks. In the mornings, there were crystalline works of window art and new tracks through the snow.

As an adult, I have more empathy for those suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder. My husband and I live in the Rocky Mountains and I love the quiet winters there. But, with so much darkness, my energy reserves run low. I think that’s true for a lot of us. We begin our day before the sun comes up, and the day’s work isn’t done until long after dark – no doubt, a metaphor for our time.

But still we rise. Because we must.

And there’s strength for the long winter nights in a common truth. That nothing is permanent except change. Darkness, in itself, is unsustainable.

Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi, a 13^th century Sufi poet, said:

We bury our seeds and wait,
Winter blocks the road,
Flowers are taken prisoner underground,
But then green justice tenders a spear.

On this Solstice evening, we are reminded that – even at its most powerful – darkness cannot keep us from the light. Dark days will give way to the warmth and generosity of summer. Like the arc of moral justice, the earth’s gradual tilting toward the sun is inevitable.

I’ll close with another of Rumi’s thoughts:

“If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.”

Moving Within

November 4, 2025 admin

A child walks through the forest on a snowy night to bring carrots to a hungry rabbit. This is an illustration from my children’s book, *The Golden Rule* (the first book of the Ardea Herodeas Books “Collected Wisdom” series).

Each morning, my husband and I start the day with a short reading and meditation. We cycle through books by Thich Nhat Hanh, Robin Wall Kimmerer, or other inspirational writers, and then we read from Coleman Bark’s A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings. Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī was a Sufi mystic and a prolific poet from the 13th century. Craig and I are often struck by how his words ring true in our current time. Here’s Rumi’s poem for today:

Move Within

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.

Don’t try to see through the distances.

That’s not for human beings. Move within,

but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Yes, it’s November 4th, election day. Fear has permeated our national and international politics. Rumi’s poem is a good reminder that we don’t know what the future will bring. Still, we keep putting one foot in front of the other. Get to the polls; cast our votes. But the poem resonated in other ways, as well.

Renovation-in-process. Panhandle Creek Press will be based in the area over the garage.

As many of you know, we have been living in a small cabin for over a year while we complete the addition to our cabin over Panhandle Creek. It’s taken much longer than we expected, but that’s the nature of most renovations (especially at 8725′). We had hoped to be in by the holidays, but yesterday we learned it will most likely be January or February before we can move back home. Disappointing, but we’re grateful to have a roof over head and plenty of firewood for the stove. My books will stay in boxes for a couple more months. In the grand scheme of things, this is a small setback. Do I sound convinced? I’m getting there!

The back of the cabin viewed from up the ravine.

Completing Denver Publishing Institute was the catalyst for tremendous movement within. I’ve known since Writing for Peace what kinds of books I wanted to publish. DPI gave me new tools and greater clarity of vision. To that end, we’ve added two new imprints:

Ardea Herodias Books which aims to cultivate unique voices in children’s literature and develop beautiful books that challenge young readers to grow their capacity for empathy.

North Fork Publishing will serve as the hybrid press, providing support from initial book concept to developmental, copy, and line editing, from book design and page layout to publishing and distribution. North Fork Publishing provides authors with the flexibility to design a program that best meets their publishing needs, and replaces our previous hybrid press, “Panhandle Creek Publishing.”

Both Panhandle Creek Press and Ardea Herodias Books will operate as a traditional press.

When Craig bought me watercolors last Christmas, they opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I began painting the natural world—my home in the Rocky Mountains, childhood memories of the Alaskan wilderness where I grew up.

With the increased hostility toward immigrants and cultures from around the world, the books being purged from schools and libraries, and the political move to remove empathy and compassion from faith, I knew I wanted to create a children’s book about “the golden rule.” My time at DPI also helped clarify my vision for the book and a “Collected Wisdom” series of children’s books written by authors from within many cultures—children’s stories that pass knowledge through the generations. I’ll be honest, the illustrations are a stretch for me. It’s taken much longer than I had planned!

The first book in the series, The Golden Rule, shares simple quotes from various faiths, cultures, and traditions. The illustrations tell a story of how one small kindness spreads on a wintry night. The book will release on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, November 25th.

And on Tuesday, December 2nd, we’ll celebrate another launch for author Nancy Johnson’s book, Essence of Our Humanity: Portraits of My Beloved Psychiatric Patients. It’s a small, beautiful, and very unique book. I’ll tell you about it next time!

Back to Rumi’s poem. Though so much is at stake now, and so many of the sign posts along the way are darkly foreboding, Rumi’s wisdom still holds true. Genuine strength is found in empathy and compassion. Without knowing the future, we resist fear and walk on, acknowledging kindnesses and adding our own where we can.

On Growing Clarity and New Directions

August 1, 2025 admin

“Time passes, and you begin to see people for who they really are.” – Unknown

I haven’t posted for over two years. For those of you who’ve stuck around, it’s good to connect again. A lot has happened since August 2023. I’m sure that’s true for you all, as well. I hope you’ll drop me a note in the comments and give me a brief update.

I’m currently enrolled in the Publishing Institute at Denver University, a four week intensive graduate course on the industry of book making. I am in my happy place. They have done an incredible job developing this immersive program that is a safe space for students to fully engage and take risks. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced an environment that is so completely supportive. The faculty, all of my classmates – without exception – are cheering each other on and lifting each other up.

The motto their faculty espouses is, “Be kind, and work hard.” It’s a beautiful thing. And also smart. This is the next generation of genuine book lovers to move into the publishing industry. Students who are not afraid to make mistakes or share their creative ideas are students who will bring innovation to an industry that is always transforming.

Being kind and working hard is good business and, I think, a good motto for living life. It may be a little out of vogue at the present, but I believe it’s a principle that will stand the test of time. I find myself now evaluating my relationships and the ways I spend my time with growing clarity. And I’m excited about life’s new directions.

As a quick update, our cabin addition is nearing completion. It’s taken longer than we hoped, but that’s the nature of construction at 8750′ elevation. The two small cabins we’re renovating are also near completion, and we hope to get those on the market this year. Craig is returning to engineering, his core strength, and I’m excited to open Panhandle Creek Press for general submissions as soon as I graduate from the Publishing Institute. We’ve applied to the county for a hosted short-term rental. If that goes through, we look forward to welcoming writers for some quiet mountain inspiration time, complete with beautiful views, hiking trails, wildlife and bird viewing, propane fire pit, and a hot tub overlooking the Panhandle Creek.

I intend to get back to regular posts here to keep you all apprised of developments. Please share them with your writer friends and let’s build this community of nature-loving writers. Together, we changed lives with Writing for Peace. Panhandle Creek Press will be a new beginning, a way to cultivate kindness and celebrate hard work.

The Visitation

March 19, 2023 admin

The Great Horned Owl is the most common owl in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. We often hear them calling to each other, especially in the winter when the Creek is frozen and silent, but it’s rare to see them. They are nocturnal hunters, and their wings are lined with finely textured feathers that allow them to descend soundlessly onto their prey. When we are lucky enough to see them, it is usually dusk or dawn, when there is just enough light to catch its wings silhouetted against the sky as it flies between trees.

Owls hold a special significance to me. They bring me back to my childhood in Alaska, where they were often depicted on Tlingit totem poles. Owl was said to have flown to the ocean to bring back fire, burning his beak shorter in the process. Traditionally, the owl is associated with prophecy and wisdom, a messenger of the gods. Once, when I was a child, two snowy owls landed beside me in a hoar-frosted birch. I can still see their golden eyes.

So, when we sat down for dinner the other night and saw the owl in the tree next to our deck, I leapt across the room to grab my camera. I shot first through the window, because there was a good chance he wouldn’t be there long. Then I headed outside, walking as quietly as I could in my leather moccasin slippers over dried grasses and pine needles. I crossed the yard between snow drifts, looped around the fire pit, and slowly crept up under the deck. The owl was still there, watching me inch closer with my camera. He waited, framed against the conifer, as I snapped pictures in the dying light.

In my hurry to get out the door, I hadn’t thought to grab a coat or shoes. Standing in the wind, the temperature dropped until I could no longer hold my camera steadily. When I turned to go back, he launched off the branch and swooped into the silver tree. I was able to get a few more shots there before I went back in and then, from the window, watched him return to the same bare branch beside the cabin. This time, I quietly opened the sliding glass door and crept outside onto the deck. Again, he waited as I took pictures in the dying light, until he was barely visible. As we finished dinner, we could still see the dark shape of his body. And the next morning, there he was on the same branch. He finally flew off when Craig took Max outside.

We human beings tend to search for meaning in the natural world. I suppose that, historically, our survival has depended on the navigation of forces beyond our control (seasons and weather, the cycles of the moon, drought and floods, wildlife and hunting conditions, etc.) and, to some degree, that is still true. While most of us in this part of the world have indoor plumbing, heating, and electric lights, there is still much that is beyond our control. That need to understand, or make sense of the unknown, is passed from one generation to the next, founding religions and mythologies, making us a species of story-tellers.

Whether or not the Great Horned Owl carried a message from the gods or heralded an era of transition and its accompanying lessons, this was a highly unusual visitation. And a Rocky Mountain memory I’ll cherish.

Savoring The Beauty of Winter

March 1, 2023 admin

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

Snow falling on snow, the crackle of fire in the woodstove, a hot cup of tea, and a good book. As I write this, snow is falling. Owls call to each other from across the valley. The creek is hushed beneath layers of ice and snow. I love winter. The reality and the metaphor.

Steinbeck’s quote, above, resonates deeply for me right now. There are the changing seasons, and there are “Life Seasons.” And, really, what is life, but a season? We’re here for such a short time – there’s both beauty and loss in every moment.

I want to thank all of you who have sent encouraging messages since I shared my cancer diagnosis. I’ve had two minor surgeries, so far. The first was successful, but the second results weren’t to the doctor’s liking. They called this afternoon to say he wasn’t comfortable with the margins, so I’ll go in again next Tuesday. I’m grateful that he’s thorough. I know many of you have gone through this and come out the other side.

As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Thanks to impermanence, everything is possible.” So, we’ll savor the beauty of winter, knowing that spring is on its way.

Ravens

January 15, 2023 admin

Two ravens alight,

share a branch in falling snow,

then fly away home.

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Hoarfrost

January 3, 2023 admin

Hoarfrost on the mountain today. It’s magical. We plan to go out with snowshoes shortly.

A moose cow visited early this morning. She showed up on camera at about 3:30am, moving slowly through the snow and leaving deep tracks in her wake. In the picture, above, you can see her tracks in the bottom right corner. She followed the same tracks up and back, and wandered the yard a little while she was here.

In the video, she appears rounded and heavy with calf, though (by my count) she would only be three or so months along. Gestation is about 230 days. I wonder if she is carrying twins.

The hoarfrost and moose visitation brings me back to my childhood in Alaska. We lived in the foothills outside Anchorage, and they seemed attracted to the open area behind our home. It wasn’t unusual to find two or three in the yard. I remember one morning looking out my window to find six cows there in snow up to their bellies.

Cutting a Trail

November 8, 2022 admin

On Tuesday, we got a notice that the Asgard was blocked with fallen trees. We had adopted this trail a few years ago, cleared and marked the path and built several bridges. It’s fun work. We thought, at the time, that we might make it a weekly project and adopt a few more. The gods of nature and impermanence must have had a good chuckle over that.

Craig was evacuated by helicopter at the beginning of the season. He was in wildfire training when the chest pain came on, surrounded by medics. They knew exactly what to do, and not a second was wasted. I’ll be forever grateful for that.

Our life changed after his heart attack, but it was more than just cardio rehab. Our family needed more of my time. We began renovating the new cabin and mitigating the property around it. Craig started a new job that required more travel. And, if I’m being completely honest, I found the local politics disheartening.

We considered pulling out of the trail adoption program all together, but my friend and Greenbelt Management Committee co-chair convinced me to give it some time, assuring us that the trail was in good shape. I’m glad we did.

With snow in the forecast for Thursday, we took a long lunch on Tuesday and headed out. There were 8 or 9 trees down that Craig cut with his chainsaw. Together we rolled them aside and pulled the slash off the trail to redirect hikers. It was a beautiful day – the kind that reminds you what’s important. I’m grateful for my co-chair, Rachel’s, sage advice, and the reminder that life is always changing.

While we can do the work, we will. Happily.

Mountain Stewardship

November 1, 2022 admin

This land nourishes us. It provides shelter, feeds our bodies, our senses, our minds, our spirits. I believe we owe something in return. As mountain residents, we have a stewardship responsibility to this land, for the ecological welfare of our individual acreage, as well as the 563 acres of community Green Belts.

We are only now beginning to understand the impact of 150 years of wildfire suppression. This massive overgrowth of trees restricts light to the understory, reducing plant, insect and wildlife diversity. As the planet warms, these dense forests become more susceptible to drought and disease which, in turn, increases the risk and severity of wildfires. Unlike the clearcutting of past eras, current forestry science calls for restoring our forests to something closer to their pre-suppression state. It’s beautiful landscaping that takes into consideration the contours, soil and moisture, old growth, and micro climates of the land.

With the Cameron Peak Fire still fresh in our memories, we follow these new guidelines, working to mitigate fire risk through the cultivation of a healthy forest. Here, we’re fortunate that Crystal Lakes provides a Slash Depot for residents to bring their dead and dying trees. When snow conditions are adequate, the volunteer fire department will supervise the burning of this fuel. This year alone, Craig and I took down approximately 40 dead and diseased trees, and brought over 20 cubic yards to the Slash Depot.

We’re grateful for the proximity of the Roosevelt National Forest, with miles of beautiful hiking trails a short walk from our front door. But, if you look behind the cabin in the photo below, you’ll see the remnants of the pine beetle infestation on the slope behind us. Much of that terrain is difficult and costly to mitigate. National foresters are working to procure the funding and technology to make that mitigation possible.

Beetle kill still evident on the slope behind the cabin we’re renovating.

On our property, the beetle kill had mostly been removed by the previous owners, but we still had trees in distress. The primary culprits were rust, a fungal infection, and mistletoe, an insidious parasite that disguises itself as needles. We removed trees with severe infections, then pruned and thinned areas where the infection might be controlled with some diligence. We left the aspen grove with more light and room to flourish. Next year, we’ll check the remaining conifers, prune infected branches and hope for the best.

In the distance, the Cameron Peak burn scar visible from just around the corner from our cabin.

Happy Halloween!

October 31, 2022 admin

“Shadows of a thousands years rise again unseen, voices whisper in the trees, ‘Tonight is Halloween!'”

~Dexter Kozen

There’s no snow in the forecast here until Thursday, and the weather is even milder in town. Good news for Trick or Treaters! Growing up in Alaska, our Halloween costumes were purchased extra-large to fit over our snow pants and parkas. When darkness fell, about 6:00pm, the procession of children waddled up the snowbanks, bags in hand, fingers and toes turning into icicles inside our mittens and mukluks. At the mercy of our parents and their flashlights, the evening never lasted long — though we protested we weren’t cold at all.

Carmel Mawle

Writing in the Rockies

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