Like Warm Blood...

After trekking through the heat of Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma, my Jeep climbed 9,000 feet up through Carson National Forest in New Mexico to arrive at Laguna Larga, a gorgeous, secluded spot that took my breath away...as well as my body heat. When I mapped out my trip on paper, I assumed I was prepared for the elements of the Southwest between my 3-season tent, my "extreme weather" sleeping bag, and a small collection of warm clothing. Well...you know what they say about assuming, and I certainly was a (shivering) ass as the cold of the mountains blasted down on me, encasing my tent in a layer of frost. I'm positive my inexperience was on display to those individuals I encountered most along the way: hunters. Despite the secluded nature of my camping spots, I always managed to find a guy with a pick-up truck, dressed in camouflage, and armed with a hunting rifle. Why are men so intent on killing? The question echoed louder in my head as I battled with my own cold-blooded, killer instinct.

Yes...compassion is complicated when your personal space is invaded.

This is why we can't have nice things...like warm blood.

Arizona Insulation

The strong, cold wind cut through my tent like a knife in the upper elevation of the Grand Canyon, so I wrapped the tent in thermal blankets like a present.

The scratch felt throughout the southwest

There will be challenges ahead...I was primitive camping in Marble Canyon (just outside the Grand Canyon) when I heard it: a voice I couldn't place. It had been four days since I abruptly decided to backpack 6,500 feet below, marching my way down into the isolated wilderness; with another three days to go (as well as many other lessons to be learned), I questioned what the voice meant by this statement. Someone broke into your car...it jested back. Funny...I considered what this would mean in terms of stolen items or car damage but figured an old laptop or a broken window would be no loss compared to more crucial things, like my keys, wallet, tires...life...my mind moved onto other matters. By the time I emerged from the canyon, my commitment to my values (love, compassion, hope, and the newly added faith) was stronger than ever as was my connection to nature. I approached the Jeep—windows, tires in tact—opened the door, saw that nothing was out of place, and gave thanks. Well, that's not entirely true. I overlooked some key pieces of evidence in my enlightened stupor. It wasn't until I awoke in the middle of the night, laying in the back of my Jeep, that it became clear the universal voice which offered me this glimpse into the future wasn't just kidding around with me. All those little signs I ignored earlier—it couldn't be true!—took form as an extremely small set of fingers softly brushed the hair on top of my head where it laid on a pillow. 

I bolted up quickly then cowered in the back corner of the car as my eyes remained glued on two mice dancing around in the light of my LED lantern. Disgust, frustration, confusion, and anger kept me up until the sunrise. As the rays of sun touched the back of the Jeep, I jumped out, pulled all my equipment and gear out of the car, and uncovered my intruder's home away from home under my backseat. All after my morning ritual, of course :) Looking down at them in their nest, perhaps I was wrong to be angry; was I the one intruding? I nearly apologized, but they hurried off into the underbelly of my Jeep where a new nest was made above the back wheel-well on the passenger side. What should I do?! This would be the resounding question in my head as I contemplated how to proceed with my new travel companions. Though I previously planned to spend the remainder of the trip camping in the back of the Jeep, I wasn't comfortable with another brush with vermin. The nights grew colder, as did my heart, while we traveled together northeast toward home: me, put out to suffer in the howling winds and dropping temperatures, and them, enjoying the comforts afforded by my former shelter. Should I let them live or should I destroy them? One question inevitably lead to another...but what did I learn in the canyon?

Utah Mummification

Now you see thermal blankets wrapped around me like aluminum foil around a baked potato...

Trapped

It began innocently enough. I used a dirty-laundry bag as a makeshift trap by filling it with some peanut butter snacks and sitting as still as possible while I waited for at least one mouse to take the bait. A conversation occurred...a series of low-pitched hums bounced back and forth in the cabin of the Jeep as the mice debated if the coast was clear. One mouse snuck out into the open toward the trap...but I was too slow to make the grab. Drat! That night in the tent, every gust of wind that cut through the walls sent a chill down my spine. Was that a mouse crawling up the side? Every breath created a new crinkle in the thermal blanket and my forehead. Would/could the mice chew through the tent to get closer to the food I was harboring? I grew angrier as my ego demanded answers. Couldn't I find peace?!

Among the chaos and cold, I found a beautiful natural backdrop to redirect my frustration. I revered the canyons, arches, and peaks of Utah and reclaimed pieces of compassion. It became clear that I disrupted my companions' oasis and outlook. Not only did I deplete their bountiful supply of food by shutting off their access, my erratic travel schedule and the cold overnight temperatures limited their ability to seek out new food sources. They were starving and freezing. All three of us were contemplating what to do next, and we continued on in this cycle with tension building until conditions were at their most dire. Earlier in Utah, my mind tricked me into believing the mice were crawling all over the tent; in the Moab desert, my eyes didn’t deceive me. There the mouse was...crawling up the side of the tent to reach the cooler that lay outside as I tried to sleep. THAT WAS IT!!! I couldn't live like this anymore!

Now you don't...(notice too that I had back-up layers of clothing in case the blankets didn't do their job)

Spun together, Driven apart

I arrived in Colorado with a mission: take care of these mice. Initially, this meant stopping at Home Depot, finding the right trap, and solving this demoralizing issue in cold-blooded, mafia-movie style. I reached step two when I hit a snag...why are men so intent on killing? The same question I projected onto the hunters I spied was now turned on its head with eyes looking square at me. Of the 20 or so traps they had on the shelves, 3 were non-kill; the remaining traps nearly brought tears to my eyes. The violent deaths illustrated on the packaging made me reconsider my strategy. When I glanced a little further down and saw the spider traps, I stopped dead on my web. I took the live trap and peppermint repellents to the counter, made an investment into life, and proceeded to my next camping stop. 

My Jeep lurched up 9,900 feet to Overland Reservoir, a beautiful oasis sprinkled with a light cover of snow and a heavy cover of hunters. The viewpoint was inspiring, yet I battled with my killer instinct as the live trap failed to draw any attention, and the peppermint repellents turned into a last-resort food source. What should I do?! It was too cold to rough it in the tent, but the mice were still crawling through the interior of the car. Despite my ego's best efforts to freeze out compassion, I reached deep within and found peace sleeping in the cabin of the Jeep. The next morning, I woke up before sunrise and considered the meaning of my recent Name Game discovery: Defying Gravity. That's when I heard a new conversation between my companions; I'm not sure if I was becoming fluent in squeaks, but it seemed to communicate frustration, exhaustion, and despair. My ears followed the movement of a mouse (again, the male, I presume) as he exited out the wheel-well in search of food. Was this a sign? An opportunity? I made my own move: I peeled out down the road, looking back in the mirrors to see if there was a rodent on the run after me. Nothing. Did I do it? Was I successful in escaping this cold-blooded madness?

Colorado S.N.O.W.

Stay Nestled Over the Wheels - My tent and sleeping bag were no match for the Colorado conditions, so I opted to sleep in my Jeep for this leg of the trip.

I continued my climbed up Colorado in the Jeep, but a different feeling settled over me as the natural wonder of the area took my breath away. Guilt? The nights grew colder, and the conversations ceased; they were replaced by the noise of uncomfortable shuffling when the wind pushed into the side of the car. What have I done? I began leaving food outside at night in the live trap, opened, hoping to both nourish my remaining ally and strengthen their resolve to leave the Jeep as we journeyed toward the moderate temperatures of Nebraska. I felt sorry for their isolation and confusion; certainly, this poor mouse had no idea what they was in for when they first built a new home with their mate. I even considered their dilemma: do they remain in the rapidly diminishing comfort of the Jeep in hopes that things will return back to the sprawling oasis they discovered together weeks ago or do they bravely make an exit to pursue a life of their own? That's when I recognized how our destinies were intertwined; we both had important decisions to make that would impact our future path. I prayed for mercy, but not for myself. I prayed that the intruder I once despised and wanted to see destroyed would choose the noble path, whatever that meant. I learned that I could not control their fate, much like I'm not able to control my own or others, and I realized the importance of compassion and perspective in relation to how I approach the challenges that arise through destiny. 

So...did they make the leap of faith? Did they stay? I don't know for sure. I believe they did leave the Jeep in Nebraska, and I hope they made a new home in their hand-planted national forest. Then again, perhaps they stayed with me through Illinois and found a nice spot to reside in the suburbs. I suppose whatever decision they made is less important than what that decision means to the universe. Destiny awaits us all; we each serve a unique purpose. Our interweaving helped me thread a stronger web as it taught me crucial lessons about compassion, patience, and acceptance. I wonder, from time to time, if my four-legged friends found each other or if their paths will ever cross again. Based on my limited, yet powerful, experience with them, I decided to name them Fate and Destiny. I'll let you be the judge on if those names are as catchy as Mickey and Minnie.