Phelps Lake

I was in Wyoming a few weeks ago and had the chance to visit my uncle’s former ranch, whose land he gave back to the public as “The Laurance S. Rockefeller Preserve”.

Parking at the visitor center is purposely limited to keep a sense of privacy for all who make the hike to Phelps Lake. Here are some pictures and a recent poem I was inspired to write after being there.










Footprints in grass
track our moods:
laughter, tears, sighs,
deep breaths.

A field comes into view
near Phelps Lake, Wyoming,
wild with Columbine,
purple, red, yellow
free of cultivation;
no trace
of past habitation.

Let it go.
Bare feet settle into dust
like dreams, wishes,

What do you need to let go of?     

This entry was posted in Eileen's Armchair and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to Phelps Lake

  1. Steven Locke says:

    Beautiful. I hope to visit someday.

  2. lisa cashdan says:

    Eileen, Peter and I are headed to Wyoming next week so we may have a chance to follow in your footsteps :> Thanks for inspiration. Fondly, Lisa

  3. Dear Eileen,

    I need to let go of regret for the many things I’ve meant to have done and have not done. I believe that what I experience as “regret” derives from a convenient (and excessive) feeling of victimhood—in other words, my old conviction that I was burdened as a child and teenager with excessive emotional baggage…. Yes, I was given a fair amount of emotional baggage, but I don’t know too many people—including highly privileged and/or highly talented people—who weren’t given baggage to carry. (Besides, what I’ve thought of as “emotional” in origin has partly, perhaps largely, been physiological or genetic in origin: the family genes, not the family scene.) Anyhow, getting older or, more to the point, growing up means recognizing that I’ve had a lot more freedom to act than I’ve exercised. It also means recognizing that I STILL have a lot of freedom to exercise for as long as I live. In sum, I need to let go of my habit of regret but NOT let go of my constructive wishes. The moral of the story: If you do what you have it in you to do, you’ll be much too busy for regrets.

    All the best,


    • eileen rockefeller says:

      Dear Richard, thanks for sharing so openly. There’s much wisdom in what you say. You remind me of the adage, “if you don’t like the story, create a new one!”

    • Dear Elaine. What a lovely poem. I can see you there. I hope the sea has indeed been a salve for your aching legs. Thanks for sharing.

  4. Phyll says:

    Beautiful poem.
    Full of feeling.
    Long ago and far away;
    Yet, here today, here to stay. . .

  5. wwwshalomrav says:

    love the being a wild columbine…marty rosen

  6. Alan Fischer says:

    The wonder of nature,
    a sense of peace and gratitude,
    and a gentle reminder of what is important.
    Thank you for sharing,
    Love to you, and Paul,

  7. Lawrence D Harris says:

    Eileen, its wonderful to have you back on board blessing us with positive vibes, soothing imagery and a platform to express ourselves when you lay out excellent topics and themes.

    Lawrence D. Harris
    Green City Force

  8. paulbinder says:

    Always thoughtful…always from the heart, lungs and nervous system!

    love to you and Paul

  9. Hi Eileen, Thanks for sharing your poem, photos and one of your summer jaunts. I remember attending a dinner where your uncle L. was the featured speaker–years ago. Your family’s philanthropic efforts reach out to all. Thank you. Now, a poem to return back to you…

    A Few Summer Ebbs and Flows

    I plopped my new pink summer chair in the waves at the edge of the seashore,
    bathing my aching legs with rhythmic waves and salt sea water.

    Asking myself if the visiting sea gulls were dipping their necks for minnows, or
    talking to me, smelling the scents of my dog Nova on my skin, maybe?

    The sun was high; the neighbors were nearby with beach umbrellas.
    All was still, a mild breeze to turn towards.

    Kent was walking four miles on a curvy road which frightened my inbreed sense
    of safety. Oh, Kent, relentless, brave and strong.

    Would I lift my chair, or fall into the sea, chair and all, knees lifted and salt mending me…
    Summer, summer, never leave me, summer, summer, sing with the birds…


Comments are closed.