Beamer Takes the Back Nine
June 8, 2025
Somewhere between Prescott margaritas, Santa Fe massage tables, and my camper fridge possibly growing a new life form, I lost track of the blog. But here I am — in Gunnison, in bed with Beamer and a hot cup of good intentions.
Sorry for the silence. I’ve been caught up in the social swirl of this leg of the trip. That’s no small feat for a reclusive animal like me. Beamer, however? He’s thriving. O! M! G! I wish I had a video of the afternoon we arrived at my friends’ beautiful home here in Gunnison, surrounded by lush, mowed grass, perched along the ninth hole at the country club. He was lit up — full-body zoomies across the yard, diving into the grass, rolling, stretching, popping back up with that signature Beamer grin that says, “Did you SEE that?!”
Even indoors, he’s been running laps in their big house, rounding up people like golf carts before a tournament. The Sheriff of the High Desert has been temporarily promoted to Club Pro of Corgi Hills. Last night, after dinner, I had to coax him back into the camper. He gave Diane the kind of soulful gaze usually reserved for tragic French film protagonists — all but mouthing, “Save me. That blue bubble smells like old socks and my Mom snores.”
Yesterday, the river called to me. After breakfast and a stroll through a small (yes, diversity!) celebration downtown — and a few shops that didn’t exist fifty years ago — I drove north into Taylor Canyon. This place holds something sacred for me. Sure, there are plenty of beautiful rivers in Colorado, but this one? She spoke to me when I was young. I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean spoke. I camped beside her, hiked her edges, sat for hours just listening to the rush of water. Wild and free. And now? Fences. Cabins. Boaters. “No trespassing” signs. I knew it was coming, and yet… I still grieve the change. I long for her wildness. Maybe because I long for my own.
The day was bright, the sky scattered with puffy clouds, and the aspens shimmering their early-summer lime green. Beamer peed on everything vertical. I took pictures, breathed deep, and remembered who I used to be.
We returned to the Gunnison “clubhouse” in the late afternoon — ball tosses for Beamer, snacks for the humans, and a little wine to wrap the day. It’s peaceful here. Restorative. I even got myself, my clothes, and the camper back to semi-respectable condition. The WiFi’s working. My electronics have forgiven me, and they’re no longer dusty and confused. I’m on the move again soon — to Wyoming and a cowgirl gathering, hopefully some fun photographs, and a workshop on marketing my work. After that, Idaho and home. There will be time and space, not as social then. I think I will miss it.
As for reflecting on the earlier parts of the trip? It’s hard to put into words today. Mostly good. But like any cross-country connection — whether WiFi or emotional — there are glitches. Static. Things unsaid or misheard. I may write more about that soon. Or I may not. Some stories take a little time to unravel, especially when friendship is involved. There has also been much heart. Long-time friends know you like no others,
My last gulp of coffee was cold. Beamer’s napping after a big breakfast. The day is waiting, and I have another old friend, a musician I used to play with many moons ago, to get in touch with later today.
I’ll leave you with a photo I took yesterday at the top of Taylor Canyon — a place that feels like the top of the world. Taylor Reservoir. Early memories of bumper “skiing” on the snowy road in winter float in and out, as do many others today.
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