7 minute read
Walking in Beauty
Walking in Beauty Hobbies
Katie Sharpton, MPH Family and Consumer Science/4-H Agent McKinley County Cooperative Extension Service stresses. Having a hobby not only makes you happier, but also healthier. January is National Hobby Month and what better time to try out the activity you have always
What are your passions? What sparks your interest the most? What are your goals? Now is the perfect time of year to pick up a new hobby or get back into an old one that you haven’t thought about in a while. The great thing about having a hobby is that it can take your mind off the pressure of work or other daily
In the 1500’s, knitting’s “pure stitch” method was invented. Knitting, as a hobby, fell out of favor in the 1980’s, but rebounded in the 21st century. wanted to do then now. Hobbies are often referred to as a “pastime”, derived from the use of hobbies to pass the time. Over several centuries the term
In 1840, Great Britain issued the first postage stamp. Stamp collecting peaked as a hobby in the mid-20th century.
In 1972, the first video game home console, Odyssey, went on sale. In 2013, Netflix began releasing new episodes of popular T.V. shows all at the same time—the era of binge-watching as a hobby.
“hobby” grew to be associated with recreation and leisure. Over the years, hobbies are now an activity that is regular practice serving a worthwhile purpose. Hobbies can be practiced for pure enjoyment or interest. A hobby is anything you enjoy doing in your spare time. These activities keep us well rounded and also bring experiences to our lives. If you enjoy the outdoors, try camping, fishing, or hiking. Be creative and try embroidery, calligraphy, or painting. If you already enjoy painting, check out letsmakeart.com for kits on watercolor or journaling. I love the outdoors and express joy by growing, nourishing things.
HOBBY EXAMPLES
Baking, canning, jewelry making, reading, writing, gaming, photography, whittling, wood burning, personal growth, dog training, board games, music, cycling, yoga, archery, golf, guitar, violin, basketball, tennis, having a pet.
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The Great Divide
By Barbara Jensen
The Continental Divide Trail winds around the edge of an incredibly steep hillside. Shrubs with tiny green slivers of leaves, pink buds, and small four-petal crosses of white flowers cling just below the narrow path amidst the rocks and cactus, offering a hint of fragrance in the afternoon sun. They are cliff fendlerbush, awkwardly named for botanist Augustus Fendler in 1846. The prettier name is Navajo orange. I like the Navajo name best: K’iishzhiní. The soft sound captures the sweet enchantment of this unexpected garden along such a treacherously narrow margin. I find this bush’s tenacious optimism encouraging.
I step beyond scraggly junipers to reach the first mesa summit. I take in a panoramic view to the south, layers of hills slowly fading into the distance. Foothills of Mount Taylor block my view to the east, toward Gallup. However, mere steps to the west, on a tall post held steady in the center of a rock pile, someone has attached an old brass bell. It hangs at about face height, patiently waiting over the course of years for the dusty human beings who’ve made it this far to ring out the sound of their existence over the valley below.
Every bell is a bell of mindfulness, asking me to pay attention, according to the writings of Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Han. I pick up a rock and tap the bell, and a soft, sweet note rings gently, a voice whispering away on the wind: K’iishzhiní.
Coming over a rise, I see a pristine valley opening to my right. No roads, no fencelines, the kind of high meadow between tree-covered hills favored by elk. I scan the treeline for them.
The farther I hike, the taller the trees grow, short-needled fir, spruce, and white pine; yet, just when I think I can predict what comes next, I find myself in a grove of nothing but fat piñon. As I think it, I see it: elk droppings beside the path. I stop and listen, but they are not here. Venturing on, tall trees rise once again, white pines stretching higher. I wonder if those are ponderosa I see ahead, the harbingers of mountain trails.
Suddenly, Mount Taylor comes into view, looking closer and more attainable than ever. Another Continental Divide Trail marker is nailed to a tree, a tiny little pine, with two angled branches as thick as the central leader, all splitting from the same location. The effect is of a hand holding up three fingers, like a reminder of something, something I’ve lost count of. I look at Mount Taylor, then ponder the little tree, snacking while perched on a low limb of a sturdy piñon, the ground under my small daypack littered with its wasted abundance. I chomp into my apple, thinking.
It’s 6:00. I have to turn around if I want to get down before dark. But how I wish I could just keep going, for days. I imagine hoisting my larger backpack, tent and sleeping bag secured, and wandering away, away from the day job I am lucky to have, away from all the stresses we all carry. Zipping my pack, I feel wistful as I reluctantly turn back, and something else, something stirring within.
Hiking in quiet solitude for an hour, I see a young woman approaching on the open mesa. From a distance, I note her big backpack. I step aside to let her pass.
“Have you seen anybody else on the trail?” she asks me by way of a greeting. A familiar style of greeting. And as she says it, I feel joy, as if I have come home.
“No, nobody,” I smile at this stranger. “How far you going?”
“Just to Cuba.” She cocks her head back and forth between empty hands like balance scales. “I’ve got food for five days.”
“You’ve done the Divide Trail before, the whole way?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve done all of them.” She grins. “I’m one of those people.”
I smile broadly. You’re one of my people.
And there it is. It’s been three years since I went on a long backpacking adventure. Recently unemployed, she’s heading back onto the trails, reconnecting to that part of herself she loves most. I am the one with security right now…but she is the one who is free.
As I reach the overlook, I turn to face the setting sun. Standing in the warm glow, I chew on a twig of sweet-tasting Navajo orange.
Thinking.
K’iishzhiní, whispers the evening breeze.
