Quiet Moments at the Boulders

By Jocelyn Agate

Quiet Moments at the Boulders is a collection of thoughts, reflections, memories and experiences in short reads. If you’ve ever wondered where the author was coming from when Four Summits to Truce was written, what was behind it, what experiences led to the story, what insights inspired those words, here it is in Quiet Moments at the Boulders, glances and experiences, lessons and expansions, the sad and funny journey that led to a redeemed life. It is a collection of heartfelt thoughts and touching memoirs, lessons of recovery and underserved favor, a life that went from bad to good, reckless to ordinary, chaotic to calm, disruptive to productive, little glances of the moments that led to that. How often do we marvel at the ordinary life which was accomplished by something extraordinary? How often do we marvel at what our life is compared to what it would have been without the miracle of what He did for us? We operate under an incredible and fragile state of grace, we truly do. That’s all there is to it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798385018284

Jocelyn Agate

Jocelyn lives at high altitude on a mountain road with her family, friends and neighbors, wayward dogs, recusant cats and other reprobates, where she fits in the best. A strong woman who came from rough beginnings and started out learning life lessons the hard way, her advocacy of girls and women who suffer in silence is heartfelt, having been one herself. She is a researcher, intrigued with scripture and human nature, often digging down to the roots, reserved and quiet, but don’t let that fool you, her brain is usually observing. When she’s ready to speak, she speaks boldly and directly, with surprising discernment and insight. As a survivor and overcomer, resilient and persevering, her takeaways on hard things are often laced with honesty, humor and impact. Her friends say that she can be tenacious and feisty. They appreciate her honesty, never having to guess what she really means. They describe her as a woman who loves God, who takes things in stride, is intelligent, creative, artistic, talented, funny, interesting and greatly loved.

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Copyright © 2024 Jocelyn Agate.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1827-7 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1828-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024902375

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/14/2024

This book is dedicated to all those people with genuine hearts who change lives and legacies with nothing more than their willingness to be there for another, in the moments they are needed.

CONTENTS

Introduction and Acknowledgments

The Mountain Yearn

The Bears

The Mistake Tree

The Icy Road

October Snow

The Neighbor, Mrs. Tidy

The Postman

The Tissue

The Rock

The Teddy Bears

The Sheltered Friend

The Least Qualified

The Women’s Conference

Let it Rain

The Hair

The Thrasher Shark

The Undertow

Beyond the Ridge

The Tough Guy

Hold the world

The Babysitter

The Shoes

The Magic Fish

The Christmas Tree

The Motivation of Kids

The Bug

The Coffee

The Self

The Prayers

The Blessing

A Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

The Garden

The Woman at the Well

The Fig Tree

Serenity Prayer

The Sister

The Departure

The Restoration

The Conclusion

Epilogue

References to Quiet Moments at the Boulders

INTRODUCTION AND

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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There are boulders everywhere in the mountains and some of them are as tall as a house. They might stand alone and be in a huge cluster of boulders. It usually involves a hike, a long drive into the forest, some kind of quiet travel, that’s when you come across the best ones. They stop you in your tracks. My mind gets quiet in nature. I spend time there in the presence, taking it all in.

It’s hard to believe that I am the age I am now. Where did all this time go? There was so much going on at first. Lessons and experiences trimmed out those years. The next thing you know, it’s long behind you, newer, more wonderful and challenging things start to fill your world. A quiet walk, a cool stream, large protective boulders holding the mountain in place, housing wildlife, standing tall and proud, you’re amongst them feeling honored. These are times when the mind is quiet and begins to reflect on the years. This is where the name Quiet Moments at the Boulders came from.

I want to thank my husband who stood by me. It takes a dual effort for a project like this to finish with success. Every time I take on a project like this, he is by my side with love, belief and support. I don’t have the words to express my gratitude for him. I feel grateful to have such good friends and a Trusted Someone in my life, who believe in me and offer their support. What would life be without all of you? May I never know.

When I wrote Four Summits to Truce, it felt like I had donated a spiritual kidney or something. I thought, okay, I finally did it, now I can rest. Then it was clear that I wasn’t done yet. With Quiet Moments at the Boulders, it felt like a few more kidneys. Looking at it all now, I understand the message He wanted to give and the method He used to give it. It had to come from the least of these. I understand that now. It was a privilege to be the vessel. That was a long, hard journey. It’s time to rest.

My goodness is nothing apart from you. (Psalm 16:2, NKJV).

THE MOUNTAIN YEARN

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Where did my yearning for the mountains come from? I’ve asked myself this my whole life, growing up near the forests and coasts. One parent’s family came from the north, maybe I got it there? It started before that though. In the mountains, a short drive away, the change of colors, it felt like I had connected. My grandparents took me on vacations. I went to the family reunion on one vacation. They took up a whole park, there were slopes and it was mountainy. It was on the way there, that I met the mountains. We explored caves and hillsides, staying at KOA’s. I found an ancient arrowhead deep in the forest. It was almost like I could see them running around, shooting that arrowhead. I felt their spirit. They left no trace, only this arrowhead. It felt peaceful, calm, like returning home, to the place where you originated from. There’s no way to explain that feeling. I didn’t want to leave.

I must be part Viking or something, because I cannot stand heat. The cold is better. Grown and married, we moved north, and then we moved again. We hiked the mountains, camped and fished there. There are lots of good memories there. My husband had a similar childhood, heading to the lake and the hills in summer, sometimes the mountains in winter to see snow. We tried to move to the mountains, but with a growing family and few jobs, it was not possible yet, so we’d go during summer to the mountains, as often as we could.

My other parent’s family is from another country. I assumed the mountain ranges started deep into Columbia and ran to Chile. I was wrong. The Serrania del Baudo and Serrania del Darien ranges run through Central America and Columbia. The coast and ports are curtained by mountains. They settled in the northern United States, a place colder than their home. Later they relocated to the warm coast. Their homeland was gorgeous mountain ranges, Ports and coast, green and lush. This is what they left behind. I always thought the mountains were a shock for them, wondered why some of them stayed in the north. The cold was a little change, but the mountains were not. They had towns that ran up the sides of foothills and mountain, just like the U.S. It’s possible that this yearning for the mountains was in my blood from both sides of the family.

Can something like that run in a person’s DNA or are we conditioned to the environment we grew up in? I grew up miserable where I was born; the only relief was forest and water. We had wildlife at least. I just couldn’t stand the heat, it was hard to breathe. My spouse couldn’t get us out of there fast enough either. The moment we moved north, we felt better and began to visit the mountains during summer, all summer, and every chance we got. Camping, fishing, trails, going to the gorge, the rim, you name it. I feel at home there and we vowed that one day we would live in the mountains.

When we camped, the deer would sniff the girl’s tent, I’d hear them whispering about what was out there sniffing, very concerned. The boy’s tent was usually on the other side of the campsites and that was a good thing. If they heard the girls afraid, well, you know, it would be irresistible to do something to spook them. I’d walk them to the outhouse in the dark; reassure them, that sound is just a deer. It won’t hurt you. The boys loved to go fishing with dad. At this particular river, this particular season, you caught eels, not fish. We did not know this, neither of us had eels where we came from.

They are super slimy, have a clear mucous like snot that coats them. They’d curl around the fishing line, tangle it up. The slime is so thick that it’s hard to get them off. These guys kept untangling them, throwing them back into the river only to catch more. We came up on them during our walk. After observing this for a while, we said, You’re catching the same eels. They put them in the 5 gallon bucket instead. They did stop catching the eels, but there were no fish. They tangled and slithered around the 5 gallon bucket, their slime so thick that the river water could hardly rinse it out. It was what you would call, unforgettable. These majestic mountains cornered three states. We had to make a run to Walmart. It was in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the mountains, across the state lines nearby, about 45 minutes away. Someone forgot a sleeping bag or something. The guys went for more fishing tack. They mentioned the eels and throwing them back. You threw the eels back in! the man said, astonished. They are an expensive delicacy, he exclaimed. We had bonding experiences there.

We would have lived there forever if we could, but the company moved the families away. We depended on the company and its benefits. In the new place, we found more mountains, made more memories there. When all but two kids were grown, we did move to the mountains, sold the house, and gave up jobs. It was that same connection, that peace, like you are home. We had a teen who wasn’t feeling it. We thought for sure the last two kids, especially the teen, would not stay. They’re both still here. In spite of everything, that teen became part of the mountain. One day, the city or a warmer place might open up for them. It will be an adjustment. On the trips down the hill for appointments and such, they both come back aggravated at the busy, congested city.

Winters at high elevation are more work. You need good snow tires, AWD or 4WD and heat. The snow and ice seasons go longer. Foxes scream outside your window, mountain lions, bears and moose walk through the yard. The mountains aren’t for everyone, but they are for us. Mountain people are here for a reason and we have that reason. We’re making roots; a grandchild has been born here. You have to be fully committed to live inside a Christmas card. It has tested us on that. What we learned from that is, this is our home. We belong here.

THE BEARS

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We have bears that love to get in the trashcans. They go inside our trash corral. You have to have that in the mountains. The high winds, thirty, forty, fifty mile per hour gusts, ongoing, can send those cans down the road. It’s a real pain to haul them back up the road, up in snow and ice. Everything is on a slope. Think of the nastiest, smelliest thing in a garbage bag, like dirty diapers, bears like things like that. Now think of them chewed up and smeared all over the road after it rains, cleaning that up before work. Bear proof trashcans are the solution and we were willing to pay extra to get them after a few sessions of that. The corral held them in place.

The first year was a big brownish bear; it lifted up the garbage can and tossed it around like it was nothing, jumped on it so the lid would open. The next year, we had a darker bear, beefy and big. The third year we had twin cubs about a year old. Maybe the bear from the year before was their mother. Maybe she told the twins, stop bothering me, go play with the trashcans. They made the biggest mess and had the most fun. I looked out the front door one night and they were batting the bird feeder around. They continued on to a neighbor’s deck and climbed up to the second story, snacked on the feeders. All that season they came by, getting into things, lumbering around, playing, tearing things up, had a great time. I don’t know where they went over winter, but the next year brought a different bear, a big one, very dark in color, on the game cam. The next years bear would rumble the trashcans late at night going up and down the street, always before trash day. It’s like they knew, hey tomorrow is trash day, let’s go check the cans. Every year is another bear.

So many people have trash corrals here because of wind and bears. They’re concreted in the ground, reinforced around the sides, just off the road. We saw the bear, the wind and the trucks hit ours, run into it, shake it, pound it and tear it up, on the game cam. The corral had to be fortified again and again. If I ever doubted that a bear can open a car door, I didn’t after watching them tear up the corral like it was nothing, to get into that can. They are very strong. It got to the point where we put reflectors on the corners of it for the delivery man backing up out of the neighbor’s driveway, so he wouldn’t hit it and so the trash truck would stop breaking it with the grabbers.

We made a score board on the side of it for the trash truck to see. The scoreboard had three columns, us with our letter painted there, the bear with a picture of a bear painted there and the trucks with the front of the trash truck containing the angry truck driver. Each column recorded the amount of times we had to rebuild the corral because of them. Our column was the wins, their columns were the losses. The neighbors thought it was funny. It was documenting in a playful manner, because it wasn’t funny anymore. Humor is one way that I cope with stress.

So we must have finally got it right. They haven’t busted the corral since or gotten into the bear proof cans. The corral has been holding. The trash truck must have seen the scoreboard too, because they were nicer to the trash corral after that. The reflectors must be working, because the delivery trucks have stopped hitting it.

The windows are open during summer, day and night. This is the time of the year where everyone knows your business, not that they don’t already know it in a small community, but they really know your business now. No one has air conditioning in the mountains. AC means open windows catching the breeze. If you have an argument, if you sneeze, it you talk loudly, or yell at your kids, everyone hears it, it will echo down the slope. It occurred to me that they must be closer than we think, to study us like they do. They must hear the cans rolling down the driveway; smell the trash the night before trash collection. When we all go inside and simmer down after dark, which is a wise move if you value your safety here, they come out. 11:30 pm seems to be the preferred dinner time. Maybe they say, mmm, take out tonight kids and come hit the cans, because they don’t bother them any other night.

One year, they kept tearing the thick branches off the tree to get the hummingbird feeder and drank up the syrup. It finally occurred to me to hang it on a skinny, flexible branch way up high with a rope. The bear’s prints showed up under a neighbor’s kitchen window. That was concerning. It reminded me not