Nature's resiliency?

I took a hike this week on one of my favorite trails in the mountains west of Boulder. The region has seen above average rainfall during the last two months and I'd heard that it's an exceptional year for wildflowers. Furthermore, mushrooms have been reported earlier in the season than usual - thanks to the moisture.

I was not disappointed.

I even found a few mushrooms hiding among the flowers.

I felt exhilarated by the resiliency of nature: the ability of rain to restore the potential of the flower seeds and mushrooms spores lying dormant in the soil, just waiting for the right combination of temperature and precipitation to burst into bloom. The rivers and streams too are running higher than usual, with flowers adorning their banks.

All felt right in the world.

Until I reached the end of the trail and found that the glacier for which the trail is named has almost completely melted away. Hiking to the end of this trail used to involve crossing a slippery ice field - of which very little remains. And the river used to flow out from under a huge ice shelf. No longer.

The glacier used to cover the entire rocky area

Finally, I was dismayed to find the glacier lake is 40 percent smaller and 10 feet lower than it was just one year ago. A reminder of the short term benefits of rainfall, but the long term effects of the warming of the planet.

Most of these rocks were submerged just one year ago.

Life as a nomad

I am adjusting to a new temporary home.

I packed up all of my personal belongings and moved out of my Portland apartment ten days ago in order to restore the place to the owner who returned to Portland to reclaim her home for two months.

On the road again

I'm beginning a new chapter in the nomadic lifestyle that I have lived since March, 2008 when I moved out of my Boulder home and began renting space in other people's homes.

For the most part, I have been very lucky -- finding lodging in beautiful homes with wonderful friends. I also lived a fairy tale existence in Paris for four years.

And I continue to insist that this nomadic lifestyle fits me fine. I travel light, taking little with me besides a suitcase or two with clothes and my laptop computer. Each place I have found has come fully equipped with linens, pots and pans, dishes and glassware; even art on the walls. I arrive with my suitcase and spend a few days getting used to a different bed, different pillows, and finding my way around the kitchen and neighborhood. I make do with what I find. I adjust.

I'm doing that right now.

After 2.5 days driving from Portland to Denver, and then a week in my mother's spare bedroom, I am now unpacking my suitcase at my friend Robin's house in Boulder. I'll stay here for almost two months until it's time to pack up again and drive back to Portland in September.

So for today, I'm learning my way around a new kitchen, getting used to a new bed, and appreciating new, peaceful surroundings.

Robin's garden

A Remembrance of Francis Dubourg

I have lost a very dear friend.

Francis Dubourg, owner of La Cabane à Huîtres in Paris, passed away after a long battle with cancer on February 28th, 2015.

Francis was a larger-than-life character, a man with a booming voice, charming accent, and welcoming smile who made each patron of his tiny 16-seat establishment feel at home. I discovered the Cabane in March, 2010, shortly after I arrived in Paris alone. I love the briny sea taste of raw oysters and found the Cabane à Huîtres in a Google search - surprising because Francis never owned a computer and never created a website. But patrons found him, and his business grew mostly on the basis of word-of-mouth.

The Cabane became a second home for me. I went there every week -- sometimes even twice in the same week -- usually at lunchtime with the other regulars, leaving the evenings for tourists. I knew most everyone by name - including Mr. Pons who at 96 years old attributed his longevity to eating oysters and never drinking water!

Francis with Mr. Pons

I celebrated my 60th birthday at the Cabane a Huitres. I invited several friends, including Eleanor Beardsley, NPR Paris correspondent who did a story about Dubourg's oysters. You can listen to that story here. The highlight of my birthday party was a 60-year-old bottle of wine that Francis opened for the occasion. It was still drinkable! You can see photos from my birthday celebration here.

My oyster obsession didn't stop at the Cabane in Paris; Francis invited me to come to Arcachon where I was lucky enough to visit the oyster beds and watch the Dubourg family at work. You can read more about that trip here.

I started dating while in Paris, and the litmus test for any potential partner was: did he like oysters? and did Francis approve? A couple of dates didn't pass the test. Patrice did. We celebrated Frédéric's birthday at the Cabane with friends, family, dozens of oysters and lots of champagne. Later Francis invited Patrice and me to visit the Arcachon oyster park again.

Francis' grandson Théo, son Frédéric, and Patrice

Francis loved the United States and he loved rock and roll music. He had a great baritone singing voice and sounded just like Elvis Presley whose songs he knew by heart. His idol, however, was Buddy Holly. He dreamed of following Route 66 and of visiting Lubbock, Texas to see Holly's birthplace and final resting place. Perhaps it's just as well he never made it - he might have been disappointed.

I miss Francis. He leaves behind his 92 year old mother, his wife of almost 50 years, Regine, his son Frédéric and two grandchildren. The Cabane à Huitres is not the same without him. I fear it will close for good, the end of an era.