Nuturing Hope Through the Art of Nature (A Calendar for a Cure)

My son, Cory, and I with copies of  A Calendar for a Cure

I didn't deal well with my son's diagnosis of Duchenne, at first -- I took a selfish, cowardly, escapist approach, numbing my mind with sex, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and other self-destructive addictions. I let my son's disease feed my disease; it didn't do a lot of good for me or him. Cory needs and deserves a father who is brave, strong, clear-minded and helpful, someone to show him that retreating is not the best approach to adversity. (See Reoccurring Storms.)

But some respite is necessary to rejuvenate the brain and prevent despair from killing hope. I have come to find that respite studying the wilds through the lens of my camera. It's a more healthy form of addiction.

It started with Cory slowing down. As his legs began giving out our backpack trips (no longer possible) grew shorter but longer as he boldly, stubbornly and persistently trudged on. Every rock and tree in the trails became obstacles he embraced as challenges. Even with scraped-up, bloody shins from frequent falls he would often say, "Come on Dad, we can make it!"

We took a lot of breaks. I would often sit down ahead of him and wait. I started paying more attention to the little things around me. The details. The infinite shapes and colors of rocks; the unique and diverse forms of leaves; the constantly-changing structure of water; the ever-dancing shadows of clouds, and how all these things and more interact and compliment each other on micro and macro scales of dynamic canvas. The art of nature!

So I have tried to capture what I see in rectangular grids of pixels.

Last week I was lying on thin ice on a river close to home, focused in on various shapes and colors of frozen wild water. I have no idea how much time passed before I was snapped out my stupor by a concerned older gentleman yelling at me from shore.

"Are you okay?"
"Yes!" I sat up and waved.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Taking photos."
"Well . . . get the hell off that damn ice before you fall through and drown."

I assured him I was fine, and watched him walk away shaking his head. I imagined him mumbling, "Damn fool." I smiled. He reminded me of my Dad.

Reality slowly settled back in. It was getting dark. I was cold. It was time to go home. I felt great. I felt happy. I felt hopeful. Cory notices the differences in my behavior and attitude. It's good for us both.

Every day I head for mountains, woods, marshes, fields, rivers or lakes and walk, and think, and see art, and try to capture it. And every day I come home feeling a bit better prepared to be a better dad to a wonderful son who has Duchenne.

In no small way, these images derive from the disease of Duchenne.

And so this year I put together a calendar, a Calendar for a Cure, my favorite photos from each month of the year -- images that derive from Cory as much as they do from me.

Purchasing these calendars will further boost the hope these images help nurture. For every $25. donated you will receive an autographed copy of the 2015 Calendar for a Cure. All proceeds go to Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy, a national nonprofit leading the fight to end Duchenne.

For more information and donate, please click here:

Purchase a Calendar for a Cure:

Thank you for helping to keep hope alive!

GO GRIZ! A Return to the Gridiron with Coach to Cure

I suspect I am one of only a handful of Missoulians who have never uttered “Go Griz!” – at least not in reference to the football team.

Although I am an alumnus of the University of Montana, and have lived in Missoula (on and off) for nearly 30 years, I have never been to a Grizzly game. I loved playing football – I was a decent offensive guard and linebacker in high school, and played a season for a community college -- but have never been much of a spectator. Besides, football season coincides with elk season and I’ve long felt more at home in the wilds among real grizzlies.  

   

The Griz are big in Missoula, particularly in the fall. It seems most every restaurant, bar and store in town has “Go GRIZ!” signs and merchandize. On game days half the town wears maroon and silver-colored shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, hats, socks, underwear and most anything else you might imagine adorned with the iconic grizzly bear or griz paw prints. When the griz win a home game, downtown can be insane with inebriated celebration; if they lose, downtown can be insane with inebriated drownings of sorrow.

Missoula can be obnoxiously Griz crazy.

Fortunately, not far from the outskirts of town, I often see real grizzly tracks and am occasionally lucky enough to get a glimpse of the Great Bear. I’ve always directed my “go griz” towards them.

When the gridiron Grizzlies won their first national championship in 1995 I had been in the backcountry for a week hunting. When I came out of the mountains I read a story about two grizzly bears that had been killed by hunters who mistook them for black bears. The next morning, when I arrived at the gym I worked out in, one of the other regulars greeted me and said,

“How about them griz?”
“Yeah, that pisses me off,” I replied. “Pretty fucked up.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “They won.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.

I can be obnoxiously crazy about real grizzlies.

Today, Saturday, Sept. 27, I am going to my first Griz game. The homecoming game. The battle of the bruins! Montana Grizzlies vs Northern Colorado Bears. And I’ll be going onto the field. Not with helmet and shoulder pads, but with my 14-year-old son Cory.

Cory has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, a progressive, genetic, muscular-degenerative fatal disease for which there is currently no cure. There is, however, hope. Clinical trials are underway with promising results. But more awareness and money is urgently needed to turn hope into reality. That’s where the “Coach to Cure MD” effort comes into play.

With more than 600 college teams participating all over the nation, Coach to Cure MD is a one-day event sponsored by Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy and the American Football Coaches Association. The stated purpose is “to raise awareness of Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a devastating disorder that robs young men of their mobility, their independence, and sadly their life; Generate new financial support for Duchenne research through donations, grassroots fundraising, and text donations; and demonstrate college coaches’ commitment to the betterment of young men and the core academic research missions of their universities.”

Cory will be the Grizzlies' honorary co-captain for the day and will be present at the coin toss. He’s pretty excited. I think I’m even more excited. And not just for Cory. It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped onto a football field. It’s already bringing back a lot of deeply buried memories. Good memories. I look forward to once agan hearing, seeing, smelling, feeling and experiencing the unique sounds, smells, adrenaline and excitement of a football game. 

I won’t be doing any blocking or tackling, but I might just slap a few players on the ass.

Go Griz!