testimonials

 

 

  • If I think of my time at Mary's "Edge Habitat" as a gift, full of grace, it is not because of the beauty of the land. Though the persistent, contented chatter of birds, and the lushness of the meadows bespeak country as much as is possible today in balance, in health. Nor is it because of Mary's hospitality, and good will toward her guests, though I am thankful for her courtesy and care as hostess. It is rather, I think, because of her own loving attitude toward the Edge and surrounding wilderness. How she has grown slowly, deeply into this place, and gives it its natural, loving human presence and stewardship. As Mary would say, this is our birthright--this extraordinary beauty and quietude, this full, joyous company of animals and plants. But it is not ours in the sense of having dominion, and merely fitting the forest to our ends. Mary is one of the few who have had the wisdom to see the possibility and promise of the wilderness and say simply, "I will let it be. I will serve it. Instead of speaking over much, I will listen." This is the gift she, and the Edge Habitat, give those of us passing through. It is the peace and deep contentment of knowing that what is given is enough. It remains for us only to listen in all devotion to the voices speaking to us, and know: "This day, this place, for these few moments--all is well."

    Samuel Augustus "Scout" Bass

Please send us your thoughts about your visit to Edge Habitat, to be posted here.

 

 

                       Reflections: Hiking With Mary

Purple, white and yellow flowers bobbing and waving on slender green stalks in hidden, sun-lit meadows;

Bold grey squirrels with cream underbellies and rings around their eyes glaring as we pass;

A family of  foraging grouse heavy and large as Fall turkeys winging to the treetops;

Cold spring water gurgling up from underground, crisp and clean tasting;

Soft clicking of pine needles in the wind accompanied by the faint clapping of aspen leaves still silver underneath in the late summer;

The low roar of a river far below as it travels, tumbling and coursing over rocks;

The springy trail covered by pine needles and soft green moss so quiet to walk upon, red, Alice-in-Wonderland toadstools poking through damp leaves;

Mysterious lichen and worm hieroglyphics trail across rocks and up tree trunks;

Ripe, scarlet thimble berries tasting of strawberry yogurt;

Forest quiet as a mountain except for the buzzing of insects, a bird call or the occasional barrage of squirrels scolding, territory invaded;

Thousands of giant Douglas firs and aspens, side by side, neighbors for an eternity I’ll never witness, together as long as Earth lives;

Walking sticks picked up and discarded from the fallen bounty, slowly decomposing as do all once-living things, returning to black earth;

The brayed welcome of two furry, miniature donkeys, penned to keep them out of mischief, their tiny delicate hooves mincing under their round bellies;

The gentle, inquisitive breath of a wooly llama with a prominent underbite, long neck and legs on a barrel body, rolling in the dust for the sheer pleasure;

A secret place, part of the Pecos Wilderness, still as God made it.

                                                                          Patty Delarios