Katherine Barrett, PhD: “Mountains Haunt” (poem

Katherine L. Barrett, PhD

For four consecutive summers during my graduate career in biology at the University of Notre Dame, I had the amazing opportunity to mentor undergraduate ecology students at the University of Notre Dame Environmental Research Center (UNDERC) on the Flathead Indian Reservation in western Montana. During my time in Montana, I witnessed innumerable natural wonders each day. Perhaps the most enduring memory I have from this experience is the image of Mount Calowahcan, a prominent peak along the Mission Mountain Range. While the work was arduous and pushed me in ways I never thought possible, the experiences in Montana are forever etched in my soul. Seeing that mountain peak each day, along with the melodious songs of the western meadowlark and the roaming herds of bison, gave me a sense of place in that arid, wonderful landscape and inspired me to compose this poem.

I am captivated, enchanted, by your hovering. “We must finish this transect,” he says. But I gaze across the field of three-awn, and the mountain speaks to me. Tacit, but it is there: Then the fog sets in, But I still see, feel, hear, the transect tape. “Do not let it jam again,” I hear myself say. We put artificial frames over a site, as if to say, “This is the manner of things here.”

Between bison and sunrises and other wonders, See the billowing clouds emerge over the Missions, As if to smooth their jagged faces. Watch the pronghorn as they meet your naïve eyes with their deliberate glare. Listen for the dried flower heads bearing seeds, rattling in the wind. Watch as the Pacific winds comb through the fields of bromes and rye. Listen to the western meadowlark; she sings only for you. Hold the transect tape steady as your friend walks away.

Never think for a second that you can leave a place so quickly. Remember the feeling when you stand up to move to the next plot, So much yet to do, but look around you: You touch the earth here, and through the sweat and sun burn, You may wonder, “What is the sum of my life?” Pulling cheat grass out of my ankles? Watching tiny sulfur butterflies alight onto the delicate cinque foil petals? Your emotions, sometimes blurred, sometimes clear, Sometimes grasping for something from the past: You are the Mission River, Running high and muddy now, But equilibrium must be reached.

Between the valley and the mountains, You see ancient figures walking. Not speaking, as they speak the language of the earth: Emotion is enough. A rainbow emerges out of the Ninepipe Reservoir Only here does earth meet the sun. And meadowlarks sing you a sonnet with each new dawn. A field with a tree and a mountain in the background

Mount Calowahcan, Mission Mountains. Photo credit: K. Barrett

Between mountain and waterfalls, The sights often beckon pause, As the wild horses gallop across the prairie And kick up ancient arrow heads in their wake. You witness, unbeknownst to everyone around you, Roaming herds of bison, unconfined, Charging, the winds teasing their manes. You may walk through wetlands, Hearing ancient proverbs… “Panicum, panicum, panicum…”

Between the bulrush and duckweed, You see a former version of yourself, One who ran through streams, who dug into the dirt, Who stood face-to-face with the bison, and understood:

Between bison and sunsets and other wonders, You settle in, Eyes fixed on the full moon rising in the east, Ears pricking at the coyotes’ howls, As it must be.

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