Commonplace: Mountain Musings

An Inventory of Inspiration in Colorado

Reading a poem for “Ignota” at Here Below Ranch, 6/12/24

Dear Reader,

I write to you from a new, old place: my hometown in the heart of the Rockies where I’ve spent the past week catching up with friends and family, attending a memorial on a mountain, white-water rafting, and dancing to Grateful Dead cover bands. Right now, I’m sitting in the local library where I used to come every day to write. It’s honestly a little surreal. This is the place where my practice began.

Earlier this spring, I received a mysterious invitation from a childhood friend of mine who works as a teaching fellow at Thoreau College in Wisconsin. The invitation was for “a night of supper, storytelling, and song” enigmatically called “Ignota”.¹ There, over a bowl of jambalaya, I listened to stories and poems from friends old and new. Two of my brilliant writer friends read poems I had heard before, yet something about hearing them read aloud in front of such an attentive, intentional audience made me unexpectedly teary.

Invitation to Ignota, received 4/16/24, edited for privacy

A theme that comes up in this writer’s journal again and again is the importance of community. Listening to all those stories (written or otherwise), I felt more inspired to write than I have in weeks. All spring I was a poem-making machine,² but summer shut me down. Between the smell of urine on concrete, the lack of AC in my apartment, and a roach infestation, I haven’t had a lot of emotional energy left to be creative. It’s like Maslow’s hierarchy of need: when the foundation is unsteady, it’s hard to get to the top. Ignota provided some much-needed stabilization.

I’m so grateful that my friend organized this get-together and that so many people brought their wonderful, earnest selves to listen and share. I heard poems about the East River and animal dissections, stories about rattlesnake encounters and mysterious desert men carrying ten thousand dollars in cash. I heard former teachers and peers share profound thoughts on the future of education and how we can teach the next generations what they truly need to know. It’s amazing that so many thoughtful, compassionate, open minds can find each other in a town of less that six thousand. But the mountains are full of such little miracles.

Early morning bighorn sheep sighting, 6/17/24

Consider this a love letter to the town that raised me, and keeps raising me each time I return. After Ignota, I drafted a poem for the first time in weeks. That’s the power of a creative community.

Thanks for reading.

Yours,

Jane

1. The feminine form of the Latin word “unknown.” Imagine it said in a Western American accent: Ig-knot-ah.

2. In a good way, not a ChatGTP way.