The foothills rise steeply here, hemming my Heeler heaven ranch with giant firs rising atop the ridgeline.
From two sides, the winds whisper through big evergreens, down to grassy meadows and dewy creek bottoms.
Last night, a big storm blew through, bringing waves of rain that looked like a movie storm, lightning flashes so bright they shut off the solar porch lights, but mercifully without the predicted hail.
The rain rushed down the slopes, soaking deep grass, finding a way over creek banks.
And this morning, up the steep hills, the sun rises again behind the trees, delayed by the high slopes but still determined to show up.
They say that hiking up and down hills is good for body and soul.
I get plenty of that around here, and I’m sure it has contributed to losing those pesky five pounds I was reminded of by Dr Greg last visit.
Even for this old cowdog, climbing the slopes helps cardiovascular health, strengthens muscles [notice my toned legs?], and burns calories. It puts less strain on my knees, doesn’t hurt that old injury, all while strengthening joints.
I don’t always catch a ride!
It takes focus and determination – increasing mental power in an already tough and scrappy Heeler!
Now on these hills, you could just roll back down, snow or no snow.
Walking downhill has benefits too. Bone density, core activation, muscles and balance too.
But always, in order to hike up, you must look up.
I look up and may see bears on the highest horizons.
I look up to see ravens angling between heavy green branches, or new fawns darting madly down the banks.
Or lots of other critters and things.
I look up, and I’m a little bit stronger than before.
Above it all, I see the sky between the trees.
For years now, I’ve looked up at my eastern border, watching for the sun.
Between the trees, there are hints of what the day will bring – clear, foggy, boiling storm clouds.
At night, I watch a bright moon flit behind the black silhouettes, finally pouring its light into the open valley.
And the stars! They light the sky between the trees like a million fireflies.
So I always look up. Season after season.
The sky between the trees is a promise, you know. It is a reminder to keep going, keep climbing, keep looking up to the one who rolled out that sky and placed those trees. I pin my small earthly grit on Him and, while I keep climbing, I keep looking up.
“Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these?” Isaiah 40:26
