Navigating life, logistics, and a botanical boss on the road to the San Juans.

The Long Road to Relief: Snow-capped Wilson Peak from the highway near Dallas Divide, heading toward Cortez, Colorado. Photo by Wendy Stieg

The 4 AM Managerial Crisis

I woke up early again. Truth be told, I wake up early a lot. At least this time it did not involve cats and dead birds. THAT story is found here: How to Travel Without Killing Your Partner. This time I am surrounded by real estate contracts, a massive to-do list, and the “Monkey Mind” that says, “How ya gonna do THAT?” Why am I awake, this time at 4 AM, you might ask? It has something to do with the structural integrity of a plant that is really a roommate. I think of said cactus as the Cactus Boss. The bigger part of this acknowledgment is Moving-With-Paul. You see, I live in Paul-Land, and it takes a certain resilience to navigate living in Paul-Land. I already see the mass chaos that could ensue as we plod our way through another move. In addition to Cactus Boss, the Giant Cactus, we have his buddy, the Prickly Hugger, who defies physics. Paul has a green thumb, which is partly to blame for the upcoming source of the chaos. I’m not even worried about the bubble wrap and the wine glasses. What is causing my Monkey Mind to go bananas is the Succulent Menagerie. Them and Gibson, the aging Chocolate Lab, Velcro, the real household manager, and Gumdrop, bird-killer extraordinaire. Ensuring their peace and relative calm is a major goal.

The Menagerie standing guard. They are currently positive that the Snake Plant will be my responsibility, not theirs. Photo by Wendy Stieg

The Origins of the Cactus Boss

Let’s go back a few years. We were living in Gypsum, and the Menagerie of Succulents was with us, albeit a LOT smaller. We have had Cactus Boss for quite some time. He has undergone transplanting numerous times and has survived four moves with us so far. Don’t get me started on how many times we have moved; it is more than four. We are both guilty of a little bit of the vagabond life. But back to the cactus. Starting in Leadville, we had a routine: as soon as it was past Memorial Day, we would carry together the various cacti to give them a summer holiday in the front yard. Little did I know that those were the easy days of cactus-moving. Then we moved to Gypsum, and Cactus Boss and Prickly Hugger were larger. Aren’t cacti supposed to be SLOW growers? That was what I was led to believe. But then there is Paul with the green thumb. That explains everything. So we moved to Gypsum with the large cacti and moved them out in our first summer there. Can you imagine wrangling a then six-foot cactus out through the sliding glass door and onto the deck? I thought THAT was hard.

THEN (left): Cactus Boss and Prickly Hugger, Spring 2022. NOW (right): Prickly Hugger Spring 2026. Photos by Wendy Stieg

Resigning as Assistant Giant Cactus Mover

The next year, we did it again, but this time things were a LOT harder. We managed to get the cactus out, but not without choice words and Paul blaming me for not holding the cactus the right way. I was not a fan of moving large cacti, knowing I would have to do it again in late September. So I did what any wife would do: I put in my notice as Assistant Cactus Mover. Enter Warren. Paul is resourceful, and Warren is pretty strong, stronger than me anyway, and he affectionately nicknamed that day Cactus Day. It became an annual tradition, and poor Warren didn’t even know he had signed up, but he helped us every year. I managed while they moved. It was perfect, as long as I was out of the cactus-moving business. It was a small, early lesson in the "reprieve" I found later when I finally decided to stop gripping the steering wheel so tight, as I wrote about in Michelangelo and the Moving Truck.

Cactus Boss in his Full Regalia. Photo by Wendy Stieg

Whenever you go into someone’s home, and you see a large, beautiful cactus, you just say to yourself, “Hmm, cactus.” What you don’t even register is that cacti grow a LOT faster than you have been led to believe. The cactus survived that first move from Dillon to Leadville with a few scars. As such, the top of the single cactus fell off, a scar formed, and a new arm appeared. The new arm made it so that the cactus almost tipped over. Upon further research, we learned that you can cut the cactus apart, soak the chopped piece in a bucket with a special growing solution for a week, and then transplant that part of the cactus. This is what we did, and now it is ginormous. It grew fast and furious after that. Once we moved it to Gypsum, we were grateful to have vaulted ceilings because it could grow as high as it wanted.

The Chariot and the Lifestyle Choice

I honestly can’t remember how we got it to Cortez. I must have blocked that out. I am pretty sure there was very little math and maybe some yelling involved. But I digress. The cactus made it to our temporary residence. But we had to move it again once we finished renovating the house. I did some research and found out that you can just temporarily take the cactus out of its pot and then transplant it. We did that and brought it over to the new house. That was when Paul got the brilliant idea of buying a brand-new, clean trash can to plant the giant cactus in. He even drilled a hole in the bottom of the trash can for drainage. The trash can worked GREAT because Cactus Boss finally had the right-sized “planter” to live in. Cactus Boss lived outside for the summer, as per usual. Then summer turned into fall, and we were Warren-less, and here it was Cactus Day. Again.

Some members of the Menagerie. Photo by Wendy Stieg

Paul decided then that it would be a great idea to buy a chariot for the Menagerie. Most people buy hand trucks for moving furniture; Paul bought one for Cactus Boss and his many friends. I think there are 15 succulents in our Menagerie. Even with the Chariot, getting Cactus Boss through the door was tricky but doable. Paul was right. About the trash can, about the Chariot, and about moving Cactus Boss inside because it was getting cold. But there was still one more thing to do for Cactus Boss. Wasn’t he kind of plain, sitting there in that can? Paul mentioned something about lights, and I ignored it. Then it was Christmas. So Cactus Boss became our Christmas tree. He was in his full regalia, complete with Christmas lights and dangling dinosaurs from his succulent arms. Post-Christmas, the lights stayed. But his look was now complete. Paul just might be picking up some decorating abilities because it was decided that the dinosaurs would go away after Christmas is over. But the Christmas lights are, in fact, a lifestyle choice.

Don’t forget this dude! Photo by Wendy Stieg

The "No Math" Manifesto

Paul has friends. I am pretty sure they are all Unique Souls, too. Brent is one of my favorites. He has the best way of phrasing things. I can’t remember what it was related to, but there we all were in Las Vegas, and Brent stated, “I was told there would be no math.” What Brent didn’t realize was that he was actually describing Paul. Paul will tell you he is not a math guy. That statement, “I was told there would be no math,” is the quiet rule that is also part of all things Paul. I have to admit, Paul has many strengths, but math isn’t one of them. This is why I was awake at 4 AM this morning. How in all that is holy is this Menagerie going to leave Cortez and move into our eventual home in Montrose? All I know is that there WILL be some math and a measuring tape. Keep in mind that I officially went on strike for Cactus Day. Now, in all likelihood, we could be facing Cactus Week, depending on all of the fun real estate logistics involved with the closing of one house followed by the closing of another house. Only then can we move. And only then will Cactus Week begin. You might have Shark Week, but I have Cactus Week. As Paul says, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Or a prickly arm.

The Positivity Paradox

I can already see the scene unfolding: I’m in the kitchen attempting the completely unnecessary task of fixing breakfast amidst the chaos while Paul is mid-wrestle with a literal desert and inevitably hollering, “Just get in here and help me!” I’ll go, of course, but the second I look at him he’ll snap, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” and I’ll just shrug with a slight frown creeping over my face until he demands, “What? What’s your deal?” The moment I launch into my legitimate concerns about the Cactus Boss and its many impending adventures, he’ll hit me with the classic: “I THOUGHT you were being POSITIVE today! Seriously, WHAT is your problem?” I will look across the wasteland of moving day at the sea of boxes and the scattered, menacing cacti and gesture wildly, asking, “This! How in the hell are we getting these extra-large plants into the back of the Acura?” When he makes another comment about my lack of faith or positivity, it will push me right over the edge and I’ll finally yell, “I AM positive! I am POSITIVE that cactus will NOT fit in the back of my car!” An “Oh, whatever!” will be the final word, leaving me to seriously reconsider ever being hired back on as the Assistant Cactus Mover.

WE actually DO get a long very well! January 2026 Greenville, SC. Photo by Laura Lampe

The Warning and the Reward

If you have not been warned before, consider this your warning. If you live anywhere in the Four Corners region and Paul knows you, you have been tagged. You might end up with some of Paul’s prickly buddies as the dispersion of succulents ensues. The warning lies in the idea that you might think it is a gift, but if the next domicile can possibly house the jungle, including the giant cacti, you might just end up being a foster parent. Should the ceiling height accommodate Cactus Boss and Prickly Hugger, Paul is coming back to Cortez to take them from you.

I am sure that all of this will work out because it has to. We have to navigate the sea of boxes, yard sales, and the movement of eight bikes, countless skis, and other flotsam that will ultimately make it to the next house. It’s a lot of lifting, but it's the price we pay to be closer to the jagged peaks and the incredible skiing at nearby Telluride, which I wrote about in Telluride: A Mountain That Continues to Reveal Itself, a place that always manages to reset my perspective. But there is a price for everything, and mine is the Mediterranean. If you make me the Assistant Cactus Mover, know that you will have to have tickets to Barcelona firmly in hand before any cacti will be moved. My life is absurd, silly, crazy, nutty, and just plain asinine, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. What is finally calming the Monkey Mind? Thoughts of toes in the sand and vegetarian tapas, not to mention some wine. Plus, living an hour and 25 minutes from Telluride. That is my price.

The Cactus Dispensation & The "No Math" Exit Strategy