Pat Stuart

Philosophers love to expound upon morals, obligations, the meaning of life, love, the universe, and why the dolphins said, “So long and thanks for all the fish.”

The latter phrase is compliments of the author, Douglas Adams. It also asks what may be the more profound (or practical) questions of our holiday season. Like, why did the dolphins think to thank someone for all those fish? Why a farewell linked to dolphin gratitude?

We know that Adams’ plot device made Earth the near-term target of an interstellar freeway clearing operation. Given that, you’d think it’d be humans expressing a bit of gratitude for what we were about to lose. Like, “Farewell and thanks for all the ... life, liberty and food.”

To my mind, what Adams was really saying is that humans aren’t particularly grateful creatures. True? Maybe. Maybe not.

I have a cousin whose house sits on a bend in the South Fork with a splendid view. She, for one, is profoundly and continuously grateful for her location and what it allows her to witness — from scenes of eagles fishing to the occasional grizzly lumbering past. I’m grateful to be able to visit her and savor glimpses of wilderness seen from safety and comfort.

Most of us are deeply grateful that we live right here with the mountains in our backyards and a range of experiences and natural delights just waiting for us. If we don’t have time to reach our favorite valley or rock outcropping or meadow, we can always look out our windows or stop to sniff the sage, watch water tumbling through our creeks, or revel in another magnificent sunrise or sunset.

Right now, the big windows dominating two walls of my study show bare trees hosting a handful of tiny house finches who seem to love these particular green ash as their late afternoon perches. They’re a distraction I cherish, seen just before the winter shades of iridescent pinks, purples and blues splash the sky around the black silhouette of Heart Mountain. A blessing!

This scene repeats for my pleasure almost every afternoon while today two growing pups sprawl near my desk on a richly patterned red and black carpet. At this moment, they’re exhausted. Earlier, the two of them had what I’d intended to be a positive experience — meeting another dog, a golden retriever. It didn’t quite work out as planned.

Even though the golden is about their size, the first pup off her leash fled, legs flashing, with the golden in hot pursuit. Up onto a porch she went, over the far railing onto a woodpile, then a 6-foot leap straight down to the ground. Sensibly, the golden gave it up. I expect that the pup — Molly is her name — is grateful in a doggy way for her “near” escape.

Gratitude comes in sizes, too, from tiny flashes that we experience as happiness and reflect as a smile to the profound. Gratitude can be felt while kneeling (sitting) in church, our neighbors washed in a harlequin glow from stained glass windows. It can come as a surprise that sticks with us in a memory loop.

Once, when driving on one of those mind-numbing six-lane avenues past a popular shopping mall, I stopped for a light just as a very large, very gold oak leaf sailed down to begin skittering across the intersection on the tips of its lobes. It would pause, dodge sideways then burst forward, almost but not quite lifting off, all while successfully avoiding car tires. Seeing it reach the far sidewalk, I laughed out loud — not for witnessing something so inconsequential but in a burst of gratitude that such a silly sight had brought me out of my funk.

Sometimes we need reminders to savor the moments. Thirty years later I still smile.

Here we are now in a holiday season bracketed on one end by a celebration of national thanksgiving for riches so copious they’re unique in human history. On the other end of this season, we’ll gather joyously for our new year parties or just a glass of good cheer on New Year’s Eve with wishes and resolutions for continued and future blessings. 

In between we’ll meet with family and friends to partake of a religious remembrance and to give thanks that “God so loved this world ...”

Yes. Dolphins may be (or not) grateful for all the fish. But us Wyoming-Americans? We have much more to think of with gratitude.