Dedications Series - Landscape Arch

 

Christmas is almost here, and I'm in a nostalgic mood. 21 years ago, I made a book of poems as Christmas gifts for my friends and family. 

Each copy had a personalized dedication. Today, I felt moved to publish some of those dedications. I'm starting with my niece, Katie, who now lives in Scotland with her husband and two children. So, here goes:

This copy of my “Collected Poems” is dedicated to my niece, Jessica Katherine Chiles (Katie). Her father, John, died when she was ten years old. She is eighteen. Katie has an indefinable quality: she radiates a kind of lucent serenity that affects everyone near her. Katie listens, and people breathe more deeply in her presence, and the lines of wary tension in their faces loosen.

Katie writes poetry, too; her poem, “Be a Ruler of Joy” warns us: “Do not be proud for wearing a shirt of indifference or reading books of apathy.”

 

Landscape Arch

Katie and I went camping in Canyonlands. Katie is my niece, and she took a rain check from me on her last birthday. I told her we would go camping together, and finally we did, in June of 1999, when she was almost eighteen.

We camped for a week, and hiked all over southern Utah.

In Goblin Valley, we had an ant freeway through the middle of our treeless camp, and had the pleasure of gloating over our neighbor’s struggle to pitch their enormous tent in the wind, with four children, two of which were toddlers, underfoot yanking, squealing, wailing, and wandering. We considered helping them, but they appeared extremely complacent about their camping expertise, so we contented ourselves with the resolve that should any immediate danger threaten them, we would hustle to the rescue. They provided our evening’s entertainment, along with a protracted series of card games by lantern light, and some lukewarm scientific examination of the insect life attracted to the light. Our enthusiasm was moderated by getting the “creeps” when large furry bugs banged into our cheeks and foreheads, and then disappeared, leaving us wondering whether or not they were still crawling on us somewhere unseen.

In Canyonlands, we found a campsite so perfect, we decided to stay there for five days. We went and hunted for firewood, and had adventures with my new Jeep, which I drove down a dirt road steep enough to cause me uneasy concern about whether we could drive back up it. We had sunsets and took pictures, played cards, and did the tourist hikes off of the main road. We discovered that we were equally annoyed by the loud banality of our trail companions, and having reached our goal, Landscape Arch, at the end of a quarter mile of carefully maintained trail, we patiently suffered having our pictures taken by strangers; endured being lionized by strangers for our courage in walking across the top of the arch; and, after exercising our courtesy to those same strangers by agreeing to take pictures of them, with their shopping bags and plastic sandals, posed against a stunning and sublime backdrop of wrinkled, cataclysmic geology in shades of red and orange and purple, we decided we had had enough.

I had a fit of anarchism and proposed that we break the rules. There was an enticing massif, a tower, a looming spire of sandstone off to the right that was crying out to be climbed. I said to Katie, “Let’s go up to the top of that.”

Katie said, “OK.”

Katie got scared on the way up.

It was steep, and there was a lot of empty space down below. It never appeared to occur to Katie that she could decide not to go on. I was captivated by her matter-of-fact oblivion. She hesitated, her hands shook, she looked down and stopped breathing, but a little line of concentration appeared between her eyebrows, and she appeared to be deep in thought, like a person doing the Sunday crossword, or painstakingly unraveling a piece of tangled string. She seemed to believe that there was nothing unpleasant or worrisome about being frightened, and blithely adapted to the physical symptoms and kept right on climbing. When she was too scared to continue climbing, she just stopped and waited, and talked to me, until she figured out what she was going to do next, and then kept right on climbing.

I was awed.

When she got to the top, she didn’t say anything. From my point of view, the scenery was outstanding.

Katie just looked at the vista of improbable grandeur laid out below her with a solemn expression on her face.

I felt a little privacy was in order, and left her alone for a while.

 

Katie, I don’t know if I ever told you, but when I went back to work after our trip, I was relaxed, and not nearly as scared any more. I think it’s quite possible that you had a lot to do with that. I hope you like my book.

Love, Leah.

Christmas 2000