A Dozen Days in August

Day 1 (16 August)

Soon after sunrise on a typical hot desert August morning, I drove away on a solo vacation through 8 western US states. My Toyota RAV4 was in good shape and I confidently set the cruise control mechanism at the speed limit: 55 miles per hour (88 kilometers per hour) and sat back to listen to the morning news. Suddenly police lights were in my rear view mirror. To my chagrin, I had entered a 45 MPH (72 KPH) speed zone and failed to adjust the cruise control. Oops. So within 5 minutes of home I was stopped by law enforcement but fortunately only received a warning.

An hour later I was crossing the somewhat bleak San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. And I entered my first freeway 136 miles (218 Km) from home at the large Phoenix metro area. At 11:00 AM, I stopped at the University of Phoenix stadium in Glendale, AZ where the football team, the Arizona Cardinals play. Last year they went to the Super Bowl but lost by a small margin to Pittsburgh.

250 miles (400 Km) from home I began to see Joshua Trees in the desert. They are a type of Yucca, a plant with tough, sword-like leaves. The trees are difficult to grow in a home garden but the 20 to 30 foot tall (6 to 8 meter) trees dominate in the 4 state confluence area of California-Nevada-Arizona- and Utah.

At 1:30 PM (13:30) I briefly stopped to buy my first batch of postcards in the colorfully named hamlet of Wickieup. I collect postcards as well as send to friends and family and swap cards with new friends. A slightly different spelling: “Wickiup” is a rustic single room dwelling built by many southwestern native people, historically and even today.

After 9 hours I arrived at slow traffic crawling over Hoover Dam, a huge choke point due to the massive construction job on a bridge to carry the highway over the Colorado River and into Nevada. Ever since the September 11 terror attacks, public roads passing on top of critical dams have been steadily replaced for security reasons. It was a stifling hot afternoon among the dark rocks in the deep gorge, but hundreds of sight-seers were out with their digital cameras recording the chaos. The new bridge has been under development since 2001 and is scheduled to be completed in late 2010.

A short 30 miles (48 Km) later I arrived at the Wild Wild West Hotel/Casino, just off the famous Las Vegas “strip.” But I went downtown for dinner at the “Fitz” (the Fitzgerald Hotel/Casino)and discovered a lively street scene, complete with a live band and a huge arching video screen above my head that stretched several city blocks, creating a pedestrian mall. While having the Fremont Street Experience, I found a shop with the least expensive postcards I’ve ever seen: 10 for $1.00! On my way back to the hotel I stopped to photo the Stratosphere, the tallest observation tower in the US. But I demurred at going up to the deck or experiencing one of the three thrill rides in the clouds up there!

Day 2 - 5 (17 to 20 August)

I got out of bed at 4 AM, so excited about my trip. After sharing breakfast at Denny’s with a California woman who apparently found me more interesting than her murder mystery novel, I headed north. With Las Vegas in my rear view mirror, I passed the secretive “Area 51” - the center of UFO and conspiracy theories and great science fiction stories.

Nobody was stirring at 8:45 AM at the Shady Lady Ranch Brothel in Petticoat Junction (also known as Scotty’s Junction, Nevada), so I didn’t stop to solicit marriage advice.

After enduing 400 miles (643 km) of creosote bush desert, followed by sagebrush desert, it was refreshing to reach Fallon, NV, a verdant valley of corn, alfalfa, and cattle. I by-passed Reno and at 941 miles (1500 km) I crossed into the golden state of California. I skirted the Sierra Nevada range for over 50 miles (80 km). The Honey Lake Rest Area is probably the prettiest roadside stop I’ve ever used. Not just the mountains on my left and grassland on my right, but the flowering plants around the “necessary” building were so colorful and artistic. It justified taking a couple photos, of a bathroom stop!

I hit the Oregon state line at 5:44 PM (17:44) and stopped for a bite to eat at a café. I’d finally arrived for my first visit to the Beaver State.

A couple weeks earlier I’d written my pen pal in Bly, Oregon to expect me about 8 PM (20:00). She lives 10 miles (16 km) from town, up a mountain road. I drove up to her house after 1195 miles (1923 km), at 7:52 PM (19:52) and apologized for being 8 minutes early. Within 5 minutes of my arrival I was attacked by a squadron of mosquitoes. I haven’t seen mosquitoes like that in years. Welcome to Oregon!

For the next few days I enjoyed true hospitality. I was escorted around the area by various conveyances. I met her friends Cindy and Dave, who are horse lovers like us. We visited the memorial at the Mitchell Recreation area, site of the only fatalities on the mainland US due to enemy action in WWII. In May 1945 a Japanese balloon bomb detonated when a young Sunday School teacher and her class of 5 children accidentally exploded the curious device. Today, as it probably was in 1945, the site is a peaceful grove of majestic Ponderosa Pine in the Fremont National Forest.

The small town of Bly (population about 400) sits in a scenic valley surrounded by cattle ranches. Irrigation encourages the rich green alfalfa hay fields and pastures full of Black Angus graze contentedly in large numbers.

We explored part of the 100 mile (160 km) long rails-to-trails project, the OC & E State Trail. Rhonda has traveled the majority of this well-maintained path mainly used by hikers, cyclists and equestrians. I found an old railroad spike for a souvenir!

On Wednesday August 19, Rhonda packed a picnic lunch and we left at 9:20 AM for Crater Lake National Park. We stopped in Chiloquin for gas where I paid $2.99 a gallon, the most costly gas on my entire trip. I also learned that it is illegal to “pump your own” gas in Oregon. It seemed odd to have an attendant doing the honors when I have pumped my own fuel for 37 years.
After a scenic 150 miles (240 km) we arrived at the Park Visitor Center and took in the obligatory Park Video for orientation. Then we drove off in a clockwise fashion on the 33 mile (53 km) rim drive, circling the caldera.

About 7700 years ago Mount Mazama erupted and collapsed, then filled with rainwater and snowmelt. At 5 miles (8 km) across and ringed by cliffs nearly 2000 feet (610 m) high, we marveled at the awesome blue lake, the deepest in the US.

Rhonda found a handy fallen log so we sat to eat our picnic with a $10 million view. I slid on the log and heard a ripping sound --- the seat of my pants had torn! Fortunately they were beige pants and white underwear so not very noticeable!

At Kern Notch we hiked ¼ mile (0.4 km) to the Phantom Ship overlook. The “ship” being a small rocky outcrop. Everywhere we stopped to view the lake we were awed by that intense blue color, probably the deepest blue I’ve ever seen in nature.

The weather was a perfect sunny summer day at the 8000 feet (2438 m) level of Crater Lake, but back in the shadows of Gearheart Mountain in eastern Klamath County the daytime heat was oppressive. I had forgotten that even places that receive snow in winter measured in feet rather than inches, can have toasty summer days.

Despite the heat, it was sad to leave Rhonda’s. I so enjoyed her home, the gardens, the pine-studded acres, her horses, cats, dogs, but mostly Rhonda and her husband, down-to-earth folks, decent and unpretentious Americans.

Day 6 (21 August)

After driving west for only an hour, I pulled into one of the ubiquitous Towne Pump gas stations in Klamath Falls. Heading north I skirted the eastern shore of blue Upper Klamath Lake for 18 miles (29km). Another 20 miles (32 km) later I stopped at Collier State Park on the Williamson River. One of the largest displays of antique logging equipment in the world are collected here in the shade of mature Ponderosa and Lodgepole Pines. Also displayed were detailed life-sized wood log carvings of bears in realistic poses.

Still further north I lunched in a locally run La Pine, OR restaurant. A mushroom burger was garnished with homegrown lettuce and tomato. I eschew franchise burger joints for just this reason: local flavor!

Early in the afternoon I came to Newberry National Volcanic Monument, 10 miles (16 km) south of Bend, OR. I took my little LED flashlight and headed down the trail into the Lava River Cave. The temperature plummeted (to the constant 42° or 5°C) and daylight quickly vanished. My weak light barely illuminated the uneven path into the mile long lava tube. After a short time I carefully returned to the surface since my left knee began to loudly announce it was in distress. So I resolved that on my next visit here I would explore more of this geologically active preserve of cinder cones, and lava and obsidian flows.

At 3 PM (15:00) I stopped at the Peter Ogden Scenic Lookout to peer into the 300 foot (91 m) deep gorge of the Crooked River. From under the railroad bridge I noticed my first view of snowy mountain peaks.

The land became more desert-like again as I headed northwest on US 26 across the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. This sparsely settled 1000 square miles (2600 km²) is home to a confederation of 3 tribes: the Wasco, the Warm Springs and the Paiute people.

As I neared the far side of the reservation I arrived at a serious traffic accident. A truck had overturned and debris was scattered across both lanes of the 2 lane road. Fortunately the driver only suffered minor injuries. A couple US Navy sailors in uniform attended to him. But the road was totally blocked and would be for hours. Due to the remote and desolate landscape I was at a loss on how to proceed. Then a local man offered to lead me and a couple others around on a 46 mile detour. So after an extra hour, and a roller coaster trip across more of the Warm Springs Indian Reservation than I wanted to see, I continued on toward a scenic transverse of the Cascade Range.

After traveling 1733 miles (2788 km) from home I crossed the 45th parallel, the halfway point between the North Pole and the Equator.

Mt Hood grew larger and larger to my right. At 11293 feet (3442 meters), it is the highest point in Oregon and is graced by permanent snowfields. A plethora of ski areas crowded near Government Camp when I paused to visit a busy restroom, nowhere near as neat as the California rest area but much more heavily used.

Then I began a descent of a couple dozen miles toward the largest city in Oregon. After 1800 miles (2896 km) I joined the Friday night traffic in Portland, OR. The congestion eased as I drove the long I-205 bridge over the wide Columbia River into Washington State. The sun was setting as I stopped at the Vancouver Shopping Mall to replace my torn pants with a new pair of tough Lee jeans.

After a rendezvous with my stepson Adam and his new bride Rebecca, I was shown into one of the numerical neighborhoods of the city of Vancouver and to their neat and modern semi-detached home.

Their roommate Leah wore an Oregon university shirt and I sadly picked the wrong school when I assumed her mascot was the Ducks (Eugene, OR: University of Oregon). She rolled her eyes and I realized she was an Oregon State University “Beaver” (Corvallis, OR). Oops! This is similar to the Arizona situation of the ASU Sun Devils (Tempe - Phoenix, AZ) versus the University of Arizona Wildcats (Tucson, AZ). One must never confuse the two!

Day 7 (22 August)

I departed on Saturday morning after an enjoyable visit with family and fortified with a great breakfast, complete with outstanding Pacific Northwest coffee. “We’re somewhat particular over our coffee up here,” Adam said. I’m glad. It was mmmm good!

I backed out of their driveway then went left, right, left, right, … on 60th, 61st, 58th… I lost count as the numbers circled round and never added up, each neighborhood resembling the mathematically named previous one. Somehow I made it back to I-205 and re-crossed the Columbia River back into Oregon. From now on, I’d be traveling east.

Weekends mean large crowds so I skipped the popular Multnomah Falls. The 620 foot (189 m) tall cascade is the second tallest in the US.

Just before noon I stopped at Bonneville Dam. It’s a US Army Corps of Engineers project that encompasses a lock, hydroelectric dams and the Bradford Island Visitors Center where I viewed fish ladders from the top and underwater. Through thick viewing windows real wild Coho and Chinook Salmon and Steelhead Trout were making their way up river in the steps that by-pass the lock and dams. So thrilling to be close to these ancient sea creatures as they migrated far, far from the ocean.

The Interstate Highway continued to hug the river through the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area. I passed more dams and locks, more fish ladders. I saw tugboats pushing barges on the broad river. The surrounding land began to flatten and dry out. Finally at the John Day Dam, 216 miles (347 km) from the ocean, the “Scenic Area” ended and dozens of huge, white, green-energy producing windmills appeared on the brown hills.

Near where the great Columbia turns north and is fed by the Snake and Yakima Rivers, I also turned north and left the Beaver State and re-entered the Evergreen State in the tawny hills of the Walla Walla onion-growing region. The blue sky tinted a fine brown color. Could there be a wildfire? No. It was top soil, tossed aloft by agricultural activity.

Discolored skies are not unusual here as testified by a sign near tiny Lind, Washington. The traveler was invited to “Drop in! Mt St Helens did!” referring to the ash from the historic and deadly May 1980 eruption. Located far off in western Washington, the Mt St Helens volcano killed 57 people and sent ash spewing into 8 states.

As Interstate 90 approaches Spokane, the elevation increases and the evergreen trees proliferate again. Although I didn’t stop, the city of 200,000 looked attractive.

A mere dozen minutes later I crossed into the Gem State, now in Idaho after driving 2195 miles (3532 km).
After the inevitable commercial area of the city of Coeur d’Alene, the highway gave tantalizing views of a gem body of water: Lake Coeur d’Alene. Twenty-Two miles (35 km) into Idaho I finally found a tent site at the private Wolf Lodge Campground. The $22 fee for a square of grass and a picnic table took me aback, but it was getting dark and I prefer making camp in daylight. I cooked my can of Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs, strolled the grounds passed a few dozen luxury diesel bus recreation vehicles, and turned in for the night inside my little dome tent.

Day 8 (23 August)

One advantage to a private campground are the amenities. In the pre-dawn darkness I enjoyed a hot shower! Then I cooked breakfast and broke camp. I dialed my sister in Rochester NY for a chat since the next part of my journey would take me into a remote National Park, clearly beyond cell phone towers.

I reentered I-90 heading for Montana and at (4725 feet or 1440m) Look Out Pass crossed into the Treasure State at 9:00 AM. Within half an hour I exited the 4 lane divided highway for a more leisurely 2 lane road at St. Regis. I stopped at a gift store for gas and postcards. I also bought a 16 ounce (.473 liter) jar of Wild Huckleberry Jelly produced in Hungry Horse, Montana. Huckleberries are a wild cousin of the blueberry that do not do well in cultivation. Wild bears are famous for eating them which explains the warning the jar label carries: “Caution - Be Careful Eating This Product In Bear Country.”

In traveling east through Lolo National Forest and then across the pleasant Flathead Indian Reservation, I spotted brown bison grazing the hillsides of the National Bison Range. Bison are colloquially known as “Buffalo.”

At the south end of beautiful Flathead Lake I slowly drove through the busy resort town of Polson. Boats, jet skis, modern condos, nice. This was most unlike the other desolate Indian Reservations I had seen. Up the western shore of this vacationland lake I drove in the delightful 75° (24°C) mid-day sun.

In Kalispell, a town that tourists swell beyond their usual 20,000 residents, I stocked up on food at a large Smith’s grocery store. Prices were similar to home which surprised me, way up here in Northwestern Montana. I hoped to spend 3 or 4 days in Glacier Park so I packed my ice chest, filled up with gas and headed up to the park’s West Entrance.

Glacier National Park is gorgeous! I arrived at campsite C141 in the Fish Creek Campground at 3:00PM (15:00). After pitching my tent among the thick fir trees, I went foraging for firewood up the Inside North Fork Road. A mile (1.6 km) beyond the campground a wildfire had been halted, so there lay acres and acres of potential campfire wood. I had a small hand ax. But after laboriously chopping one small log and attracting the neighborhood mosquitoes, I altered strategy and picked up only small fuel wood. Ferns, flowers and mosses grew abundantly as the ecosystem marched to recovery. Clambering over the fallen timber started to aggravate my knee so I took my paltry collection back to camp.

From camp I went exploring the Rocky Point Nature Trail of 1.5 miles (2.4 km) that followed the shore of Lake McDonald (elevation 3153 feet or 961 m). I met fishermen on the gravelly sand shore. I followed the trail uphill. My knee ached but I marched on, snapping pictures of flowers, fruiting berry bushes, glimpses of glaciers on peaks across the lake. Eventually my stroll headed downhill. Within a few steps I was gasping. My left knee pain was intense. Well, I was in a fine pickle! A half mile (0.8 km) from my campsite and each baby step like a knife blade jamming up my leg. After considerable time I hobbled to my tent, briefly rested, then made dinner.

The Evening Program at the campground amphitheater was at 7:00PM (19:00) and I determined not to miss it, so I drove there. The park Ranger led an enjoyable talk on geology but my leg did not stop throbbing.

That night I kindled a campfire and pondered my options. I’d just driven 2500 miles (4023 km) to visit this special place, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. But my mobility was now, inconveniently, compromised.

Day 9 (24 August)

Another beautiful day dawns as I strike my tent. I started east into the morning sun on the Going-To-The-Sun Road. A few minutes later traffic slowed and some cars had parked along a non-descript wooded road section. I followed suit and took my camera to the lakeshore. A lone moose swam a few yards offshore. Just when I anticipated she’d reach shore for an awesome photo… a couple clueless people spotted the animal and LOUDLY exclaimed: “Look! A Moose! There it is!” and the largest member of the deer family steered her swim further away. Oh well.

I stopped to walk the (handicap accessible) 0.7 mile (1.1 km) Trail of the Cedars near Avalanche Creek campground. I felt refreshed, strolling among the Western Cedars, mostly on a comfortable boardwalk that protected the rare environment. Typical of the more humid Pacific Northwest, the cedars, ferns, club mosses, the water trickling down a rock wall fit one of the three ecological life zones that exist side by side in Glacier Park. The others being the northern forest/alpine region, and the American prairie. From a footbridge over Avalanche Creek I marveled at the blue-green waters rushing over Avalanche Falls.

Driving along McDonald Creek I glimpsed more treeless peaks with white icing. Heaven’s Peak, 8987 ft (2739 m). The road began to rise, up into cooler air. After a hairpin turn at the Loop, I was now headed southeast toward Logan Pass, and passed the Weeping Wall. Suddenly I was stopped in traffic. Road construction is a necessary evil. And in these high elevations, which close in winter due to impossible snow, the work must proceed simultaneously with thousands of visitors. I took advantage of the halt to get out of my car and snap photos of the McDonald Creek valley which look like aerial shots! Eventually I resumed crawling along the narrow but endlessly scenic road until around a bend, there was Logan Pass, 6642 feet (2025 m). I arrived early enough to get parking as summer mid-days can get very crowded on this renowned point on the Continental Divide. The only problem? My scrawled journal notes say: “Knee very bad.”

In embarrassment I parked in the handicapped reserved section, and limped up the steps to the Visitor’s Center. The view from the pleasantly heated building was incredible. I bought a boatload of postcards. Then I gingerly stepped out into the refreshing air to survey the 3 mile ( 4.8 km) round-trip trail to the glacier’s edge. It was so near. It’d be so easy. I could see a hundred people were already hiking out there. But no. They’d have to carry me back I thought. So sadly I remained there, snapping pictures. Despite not being able to go and do what I planned, it was so awesome that one could not be depressed. The green meadow, the alpine flowers, the soaring peaks, the white snow, the splashing creeks. This was the pinnacle of my park experience.

Next I drove down 2000 feet (609 m) in elevation, stopping at overlooks to gaze at rocky 9000 to 10000 feet (2700 to 3050 m) peaks holding Jackson Glacier, Blackfeet Glacier, Sperry Glacier. At Sunrift Gorge a small but powerful creek rushed a short shoot from Going-to-the-Sun Mountain (9642 ft, 2938 m), under the road and into Saint Mary Lake. The amazing water color, the rocks, the lush trees, made a simple stream a magnet for a steady flow of people seeking the nourishment of raw nature.

At 3:00PM (15:00) I reached the Rising Sun Campground on Saint Mary Lake and pitched my tent in site 30. When I finished I had to lay down and wait for the analgesic pill to work because I nearly fainted from knee pain. Later I went for a slow stroll. Saw a peacefully grazing mule deer doe. At the lakeshore I contemplated a cruise on the lake. The ticket agent seemed eternally bored as she monotoned “22 dollars” for the boat ride. It would not involve walking but being cramped in a small wooden boat might not be the best idea. Maybe next time.

Back at my tent I cooked supper. And inadvertently overheard the drama next door as Mary and Rusty from Seattle searched frantically for the keys to their Jeep vehicle. Raised voices: “How could you lose them? They are The Most Important Thing!” Poor folks.

I got in the car and headed up to a high scenic lookout point above the lake. I parked and began to write a few postcards as the day slowly ebbed. I heard a stone clatter off the cliff behind me. Turning I saw a very black Black Bear step under a tree and, how do I say this politely? - he had a bowel movement. I scrambled for my camera as he trotted away. For some people the birds sing; for me the bears crap. What can I say?

Back at camp I lit a fire, made a cup of tea. A Ranger came to inform the relieved couple that their keys had been found on the lake boat and turned in in town 5 miles (8 km) away. They were able to relax, light their campfire and he brought out his guitar and sang. “Your Momma Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll.” Then a song glorifying marijuana smoking. He was really quite good. Before bedtime the ranger returned with their lost keys. Peace fell over the Rising Sun Campground, which was very quiet, despite being full to capacity.

Day 10 (25 August)

After a great night’s sleep in my tent, I was able to strike camp and continue down the north side of the long slender glacier-carved St Mary Lake. I walked down a short path to the shore and spoke to a hopeful fisherman, took pictures of the triple divide and picked a handful of huckleberries. Triple Divide Peak is an 8020 foot (2444 m) peak where a single theoretical raindrop could split into thirds. Part shedding off to the Pacific, part spilling off to the Atlantic, and the cold hardy part sliding off to the Arctic Ocean. At the (east) St. Mary entrance to the park I purchased a last handful of postcards.

Ubiquitous on all sections of the Going-To-The-Sun Road were modern shuttle buses as well as the antique “red jammers.” These vintage motor coaches built in 1936- 1939 were recently retrofitted by Ford to run on propane. They are a wise ecological choice for people wishing to avoid driving the twisty road and wanting to give their whole attention to the scenery. Even the canvas top of the 17- passenger bright red vehicle rolls back for unfettered vistas.

At 2557 miles (4115 km) I left the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park (although I failed to make it into Canada to see the contiguous International part of the park). I sped across the rolling hills decorated with oak trees and grazing cattle. This was the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. Beyond the reservation town of Browning the land became prairie. I turned east on a secondary road, Route 44 and passed through the agricultural town of Valior and then intersected with Interstate Highway 15.

At 75 MPH (120 KPH), the 22 miles (35 km) to Conrad MT flew by. I used a convenience store to rest and phone my pen pal Carol in nearby Brady MT. I left a message on her voice mail. Anxious I returned to the Interstate but was soon relieved to get a return call. Connection made!

I met my friend at the Mountain View Collins 110 Shuttle grain elevator. She was driving a big white Chevy C 60 truck loaded with wheat. Possibly 10 tons! It was tested, weighed and dumped and I rode along to the field where the men were combining. I was delighted to be offered a seat in a modern green JD combine for a few trips around the field. I got a close look at the process of cutting, threshing (separating the grain and the chaff), and expelling the residue (straw) of the wheat harvest.

Then Carol and I headed home to clean up. We went out to meet her impressive horse herd. In an amazing coincidence I discovered her home is at exactly the same elevation above sea level as my own home, 3170 feet (966 m). How unlikely is that?

The day had been hot so when I checked my food in the car, I found it warming up dangerously. And unexpectedly my stick of deodorant had liquefied! I needed ice.

So for dinner, Kevin, his father Ray, and we two gals headed the 50 miles (80 km) to Great Falls (a city of 56,000) for a lovely meal and lots of laughs. At the local superstore I picked up a block of ice for my ice chest and a new solid deodorant.

I had no trouble falling asleep in Carol’s comfortable air-conditioned home, although I did wake up once with my knee aching.

Day 11 (26 August)

After tea and cereal, pleasant conversation, photos and sad farewells, I hit the road. Only a bit over 1400 miles (2253 km) to home. I would make it in 2 days in order to see my doctor on Friday.

First stop was Great Falls again, for a coffee hit. Then I would head south on I-15 for a total of 777 miles (1250 km). One road. All day. Three states.

In Montana I passed through the Big Belt Mountains, over the Missouri River, I saw antelope. I stopped in the historic mining town of Butte for lunch. Chicken fried steak with peppered milk gravy. It is a western regional favorite and resembles Wiener Schnitzel.

I crossed the Idaho state line again. This time it was 3:40PM (15:40) and at 3080 total miles (4956 km). I saw volcanic rock again. And unique storage buildings covered by sod! Possibly potato storage as I saw the sign for the Potato Museum. Irrigation sprinklers shot sparkling water high over deep green alfalfa fields. I phoned my husband, my sister, my brother, my cousin, but got their voice mail. Nobody was home to help me pass the time. What luck! Then I drove over Molad Pass and into Utah, the Beehive State. It was 5:30 (17:30) and I’d driven 3197 miles (5145 km).

I could see an arm of the Great Salt Lake. Boats! I watched a V-shaped flock of birds winging toward the lake. Then, there was traffic. I inched through Salt Lake City. I overpaid for gas in Provo, UT. Finally I emerged from the congestion. Cities, yuck!

The sun set at 8 PM (20:00). The speed limit increased to 80 MPH (128 KPH) but I wasn’t planning to drive an unfamiliar rural highway at that high speed.

After 13 ½ hours I exited I-15. In the dark I drove slower and slower. Finally I stopped to rest at 10:34 (22:34) after logging 814 miles (1310 km) this day. The sign at the Rest Area said no overnight camping. But I wasn’t camping. I simply pulled out my pillow, reclined my seat and grabbed 6 hours of sleep.

Day 12 (27 August)

I awoke in the dark at 5:00AM (05:00), 44° (7°C) - cool at last! I drove 77 miles (124 km) to Bryce Canyon National Park where I set up a picnic breakfast to greet sunrise at Sunset Point! It was quite chilly at 8000 feet (2438 m) at that hour but as the morning sun illuminated the amphitheater, I warmed to the red rock scenery. Hoodoos, pillars of fantastic shapes went on row after row. It’s amazing what wind and water can sculpt. The Paiute Indians who lived here called the shapes the Legend People that Coyote had turned to stone.

Despite my knee that protested every step, I went to three overlooks and enjoyed the scenic points unexpectedly near a large group of German-speaking tourists. At the visitor center I bought more postcards and decided to prematurely leave after only getting a brief taste of the colorful geologic sights here. I left at 8:45AM (08:45), passing a small herd of deer snacking at the side of the road and stalling a handful of cars as we all gawked at the ruminants, rarely so near to observe.

At 11:30 AM (11:30) I crossed into Arizona and it became 10:30 because the Grand Canyon State does not participate in Daylight Savings Time.

I spent a half hour admiring the 583 foot (177m) tall, concrete arch Glen Canyon Dam that impounds 185 miles (297 km) of water called Lake Powell. I re-crossed the cold Colorado River and paused in Page, AZ to buy gas. Then as I climbed away from the river valley I entered the great Navajo Nation. The reservation is so big, that it takes 2 hours to cross it non-stop on its shortest side. It is 16 million acres or a bit bigger than the state of West Virginia.

In Flagstaff AZ I had to creep through road construction on Lake Mary Road that I kept calling Lake St Mary, confusing it with the Glacier Park lake. Though both lakes are long and narrow, Arizona’s Lake Mary is a shadow of a lake, the lower part is regularly dry, empty due to drought.

Finally I was wheeling across the White Mountains. Almost home although still over 4 hours distant. As I passed above Mormon Lake I looked down on a herd of 200 elk, more wildlife than I’d seen in 7 other states. I had a picnic lunch near Happy Jack, AZ. Although I was in Arizona’s cool high country, I remained in the shade of a Pine as even here the heat was penetrating.

My final gas was self-pumped (unlike in Oregon) in Globe, AZ for 2 cents more per gallon than I had paid at this same store 12 days earlier. Still the cheapest fuel of my trip.

I couldn’t help but smile when “my” mountain came into view, still an hour from home.

After 4115 miles (6622 km) I pulled into my driveway. It was 7 PM (19:00) and sunset. Another great adventure ended. Most of the trip I was battling the heat. It was August though. But now I was safely home, with one good knee. It would have been worse, of course, if I had never gone.
　

The Beatles and Me

John, Paul, George, and Ringo shook the world.

In my youth I was an adoring fan of the Beatles. I bought singles, trading cards and a couple vinyl LP albums. It shouldn't surprise me that young people today are discovering the talented Fab Four. After all, I have a stepson who is an Elvis impersonator. But I never liked the old Standards music of my parents and grandparents so it seems astonishing that 40 year old music should be a hit again. They have just released The Beatles: Rock Band game and the digitally remastered song catalog of 16 CD's of Beatles music. And it is selling well.

I think the Beatles came at such a historic time that it was inevitable that they would move with lightning speed from I Wanna Hold Your Hand to I Am the Walrus. The youth of the world suddenly had a voice and it was screaming. At times, quiet revolutionaries must step aside for their more vocal brothers.

Myself, I moved like a tie-dyed butterfly from one potential solution to another, in politics, in religion. Over the years I circled back to the faith and politics of my forefathers. But it is a transformed spirituality and a progressive bureaucracy, manned by many children of the Beatles era, and we work toward that iconic Vision. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

Dogs of August

In August 2009 I went on a trip to Oregon, Washington State, and Montana. I left behind my canine family members: Keesha, Buddy and Cricket; but I got to meet several new pooches.

In Oregon I met an Australian Cattle Dog named Levi. He was protective of his master and did try to nip me, but (fortunately) he has no teeth due to his age, so Levi grudgingly accepted me. Then there was Dolly, a Chihuahua. I like all dogs, but little, yappy lap dogs are not my favorites. The cream-colored Dolly though was an exceptional pup. She has had extensive obedience training and never once barked or did anything annoying. I was astonished.

In Washington State I met happy, goofy Levi (yes, another Levi, how amazing is that?). He was an 80 pound Chocolate Labrador who lived in an immaculate duplex home. Due to his size, Levi was hard to ignore, but very gregarious.

Finally there was Napolean, a good-sized Weimaraner. This big, grey boy had many toys and when his owner showed me his dog-house area, he immediately fetched me the guts of a recently killed rabbit. He was so proud! The owner was mortified. Then Napoleon proceeded to barf at my feet. I found it all hilarious and so typical doggie.

Dogs are a colorful part of life for many people, including myself. As I found out when I got home to find my Keesha had been sprayed by a skunk a few days earlier. God bless our dogs.

Cold Camping, 16 to 18 April 2009

With our dog Keesha, Fred and I left home at mile mark 114 (183 km mark) at 11 AM to drive up to our 40 acres in northern Arizona. We stopped in Clifton at the old Train Depot to look at the railroad stuff and then proceeded up hill to the Morenci copper mine. Stopped for a photo. The mine geography changes every time we visit, mounds of earth moved, relocated, new deep holes dug in this enormous open pit mine. Even the very road (US Highway 191) is moved over here or over there.

Finally we drove up into the evergreen trees of Apache National Forest (the White Mountains) and stopped at Cherry Lodge picnic site for lunch. The namesake Cherry trees were displaying their pink blooms. Little information is available to explain why there are these few domesticated fruit trees in this wilderness.

We continued driving up the very crooked Coronado Trail, scenic but one of the twistiest roads in the US. Over 400 switchbacks over the 123 mile (197 km.) route.

When we passed Rose Peak which is 8786 feet, (2678 meters), (and a peak we can see from our house), we began to note snow piles in the shady woods, remnants of winter. To our delight we stopped to watch a small herd of Mule Deer grazing near the road. After another 100+ curves in the road, we finally arrived above 9000 feet (2743 m.) at Blue Vista, a lookout point with nothing but wilderness to see. The road straightens a bit as it goes north in the high country of fir and Ponderosa Pine trees. Finally we traveled through the scenic mountain town of Alpine, then up across another mountain pass next to 10900 foot, 3322 m. Escudilla Mountain. Finally descending to grassland at Springerville and St. John’s. Near there we saw outcroppings along the road of the Chinle formation, which is the main soil type of the Painted Desert. It gives slim pickings for the cattle range that is the main use of the hundreds of square miles of this sparsely populated part of Eastern Arizona. Chinle has a remarkable variety of color, from grey, to blue, to red, and shades in between.

Elevation begins to rise as we continued north up on the Colorado Plateau. Junipers and cedar trees predominated. And at the 339 mile (545 km) mark on Highway 191 we reached the turn off to our wilderness retreat. It is a slow 5 miles (8 km.) of 4-wheel drive only to reach our acreage. But it is worth the trouble. A spectacular view to the north of ridge after ridge of treed wilderness, and nothing but wilderness in every other direction too. No houses, no roads, no man-made sounds. At night: no lights, just stars…

After driving up our “driveway” and I use that term very loosely, we set up camp where we always do, a level spot with a tremendous view. Quickly Fred got the fire going as the temperature was dropping precipitously. The forecast had warned it might dip below freezing and it sure felt like it. A hurried supper prepared on a gas stove that would not cooperate, and piling more wood on the fire as it got colder and colder, until finally I decided to go to bed to get cozy. I had no idea how cold it would get…

This was the dog’s first overnight camping experience and she tentatively crept into the tent. She started to make herself at home on Fred’s side of the sleeping bag so I had to teach her that she had to lay on the other side of me. Sadly she curled up outside the sleeping bag.

I slept right through, 8 hours and woke with the first light, before 6 AM. It felt cold, but I didn’t realize how cold until I got outside the tent. The tent fabric was iced, the car was coated in frost, the dog’s water dish was frozen solid. I checked the thermometer and it was 18° (-9°C) Whoooaaaaa cold! We quickly relit the campfire from the embers of the last night’s fire. Fred fixed the cranky camp stove and we had hot coffee and I had hot oatmeal as fast as possible. Fred put the dog’s plastic water bowl near the fire. I thought it was a bad idea, but it did start to thaw the water, and then the plastic began to melt… After that the dog had a sick looking bowl, but it still held water.

After breakfast the sky began to look threatening. Grey clouds were rolling in from the north. Then sure enough, it began to snow. Fortunately it was just a brief storm.

After the snowfall we decided to go on a hike. It is just over a mile (1.7 km) to a very old, but still working windmill that pumps water for the cattle and wildlife in the area. We walked due west according to our little Garmin GPS. The wind and cold continued so even walking didn’t warm us up too much. After photos and finding a pile of blue feathers, the remains of an unfortunate bird, we headed back and slogging through the sand made it feel like longer than that mile or so. Our warm sweet-smelling juniper wood campfire was a welcome sight.

The wind constantly blew at a strong rate. So I spent most of the day near the fire. In the afternoon I did some target shooting with our nice Italian-made Gamo .177 caliber air rifle. I’m a fair marksman if I do say so myself.

I spent the day collecting a few pottery shards from the prehistoric pueblo people that used to live in this area. Then I read a book about Søren Kierkegaard as I sat near the fire. And also did a few yoga poses on a blanket in the lee of the fire. Too cold to get far from the fire!

For supper I made hamburgers over the open fire. I timed the meal so it was finished before darkness fell because the previous night it was difficult to maneuver in the cold and by the light of the Coleman lantern.

We sat by the fire for a long time, as the wind had calmed and the stars were out, although it was still getting chilly. The dog had learned how to sit close to the warmth, overcoming her initial fearfulness of the flames.

After another long sleep I woke the next morning to a balmy 28° (-3°) The sun was bright and the temperature shot up fast so that by the time we left at 11 AM, it was shirt-sleeve weather.
After re-tracing our 5 mile (8 km.) route on the sand road, or road suggestion (!), we turned north on Highway 191 to Sanders, a small town of 500 in the southeast corner of the great Navajo Indian Reservation. Bought a tasty Navajo Taco at a lunch stand and then preceded west on Interstate 40. After 30 miles (42 km.) I exited the highway at the Painted Desert.

A semi-circular road takes one past the gift shop and one of two official visitor centers, then past eight overlooks. We stopped at Chinde Point for lunch on this beautiful afternoon. The colors of the chinle formations are so amazing. They change with the time of day and the cloud cover. I was most impressed by the variety of reds, a result of iron oxidation.

On down the road we went, driving over Interstate 40 again, then across a great grassland where we stopped to observe a herd of 11 pronghorn antelope. Animals are protected within the boundaries of a National Park, so these were lucky antelope indeed.

We drove over the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway line and then passed into the petrified logs section of the Petrified Forest National Park. We stopped at Newspaper Rock which gave an overview of several cliffside rocks containing 650 petroglyphs. There are eight places to stop and explore various fossils, an archeological site and many types of petrified logs. We didn’t tarry long as time was slipping away. But did stop to take each other’s picture next to a couple huge fossil logs.

When we entered the Park, a ranger bagged and tied a chunk of petrified wood that I had picked up on our land. Cars are subject to search if there is suspicion that a visitor is stealing pieces of petrified wood or other antiquities from the Park. With a million visitors to the Petrified Forest every year - if everyone just took one piece… it wouldn’t take long before there was no “Forest” left to see.

After buying a boatload of postcards and a couple books in the Petrified Forest Visitor Center, we left the Park and headed south. In St. John’s we called Fred’s son to go and feed our animals since we were still so far from home and it was 4 PM. While driving back up into the White Mountains we saw a small herd of Elk. Then we stopped in Alpine to eat supper at the Bear Wallow Café. From there I chose to drive the straighter route south through New Mexico, more miles, but easier, no hairpin bends. Just before full dark, we passed a handful of Javelina (or Collard Peccary) on the side of the road. And it was 10 PM when we finally turned into our driveway.

We had seen so many wild animals, beautiful vistas, petrified wood, mountains and grasslands, snow and sun. Once home, it was just nice to get a shower and clean off that smoky campfire smell. And find a jammed mailbox of letters and postcards for me!

Outback Adventure In My Backyard

We had the whole day on April 6 to leisurely drive the 85 miles (136 km) or so around our 10,800 foot (3300 meter) “sky island” - so called because it is such a tall peak, set amid the usual Sonoran desert landscape. The experts say that traveling up to the top of Mt Graham is like moving from Mexico to Canada in biological life zones. But this day we intended to spend in the grassland zone at the highland base.

After picking up a couple Subway sandwiches and filling up with gas, the husband, the dog and I left town in our Toyota RAV4 for a day in very remote parts of Graham county. We turned south on unpaved Klondyke Road at Eden, Arizona and about 10 miles (16 km) out came to the site of the 1889 Wham paymaster robbery that netted thieves a half million in gold and silver coin. It was intended to be paid out at nearby Fort Thomas and at Fort Apache on the White River in the White Mountains. Three good Army mules died in the attack, but fortunately for the 12 Buffalo soldiers guarding the wagon train only 8 men sustained non-fatal wounds. Sadly Major Wham’s Army career suffered badly from this incident although it was hardly his fault. The road passed through a defile, or narrow rocky passage that was perfect for an ambush. The bandits had the advantage of higher ground, defensive works, repeating rifles, secrecy and surprise. However 7 “cowboys” were arrested and tried for the crime but all were found innocent by the jury. It was a great sensational trial and the embarrassment of the authorities at being unable to have safe passage in Graham County led to less than favorable opinions when it came to admitting Arizona to the Union as a state. Statehood was delayed for years as a direct result of this lawless incident, the ambush at Bloody Run.

We proceeded down Klondyke Road and explored up Cedar Springs Road. Ate lunch up in a jumble of giant Granite boulders that look as if a giant child was playing with rocks and got tired or bored and left everything a hodgepodge. Small caves and narrow passages create a marvelous place to play hide and seek.

Next we drove down into Aravaipa Canyon, causing a deer to stop and give us a look, which we repaid. But mostly we saw cattle. Brown cattle, red cattle, and lots of black cattle. Calves, cows, and several bulls - a couple who reluctantly moved off the road for us.

We explored up Forest Road 672 which would have been the route of the Army wagons took after leaving Fort Grant that May 11th 1889, nearly 120 years ago. Discovered a nicely built animal water tank with a constant flow of clean, clear mountain water. Snow is melting off Mt Graham so despite the drought in the lower elevations, plenty of refreshment can be channeled into catchments for cattle and wildlife. I went to wash my hands from eating an orange when my dog decided to honor her herding heritage and she went after a couple mama cows and calves. It is beyond me why a 500 pound (226 kg) cow runs for her life when pursued by a 50 pound (22 kg) dog.

We drove through the tiny old ranching settlement of Bonita, Arizona and then headed up on a paved road through Stockton Pass on the south side of Mt Graham. At a level area the Forest Service maintains a pleasant picnic and campsite at the 5700 foot (1740 meter) level where we stopped for a snack of strawberries and bananas. It’s grassy with mature Juniper and Oak trees and so scenic because it’s up close to the steep mountain flank that rises to 9,000 feet (2740 meters) right above you.

From there it is a downhill road back to our little rancho on the east side of Mt Graham. Back to civilization.

Quicksand

The following account is a short fiction:

Quicksand

His words came back to me now, "Watch out for quicksand." I felt the tightening grip on my feet, my legs. So far from the trail I trotted off, to answer the call of nature. How ironic. Was this now nature's last word?

Vaguely I recalled I was supposed to swim, but with only my legs, well, now my knees?

I hoped this wasn't very deep as I struggled. I tried to recall which side of a creek was the deepest. Can't recall. Outside of the bend? Inside? I'm probably in the deepest part. It's my luck, or destiny.

Now at my waist, I can see the world rising higher above me. At a child's height this wilderness looks more ominous. The leaves whisper as I struggle. Can anything be more foreboding than the level reaching my chest?

Nobody around to witness me. I went hiking alone in this lovely lush Utah riparian area. And it is a deep creek bed, crowded with vegetation. All factors that absorb sound. Absorb breath. I yell anyway. It sounds...useless.

I live 50 years and this is it? No fanfare except the fanning of my arms as it reaches my neck.

Oh God, it's a vulture overhead! The sun is right in my eyes now as I look downstream. Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be hikers. Crazy thoughts like this race through my head. When was the last time someone died by quicksand in the US?

It feels like I've been stuck in this gooey, sticky mud for hours. I'm cold, cold and really, really stuck. Darkness is coming; I'm exhausted. They'll find me tomorrow. Just follow the vultures. I'll probably make the National news.

Is that the sky starting to lighten? Am I dead or alive? Strong hands have a hold of body parts I am not even sure are mine anymore. It was a trial of endurance. So thankful they found me.

Later I died of pneumonia, but much, much later. It had that same suffocating feeling. But without the vultures.

Blacksmith Competition

Less than an hour away, in Willcox, Arizona, I went for 2 days to see the World Championship Blacksmith’s in action. They had about 40 iron hammering men from all over the USA competing at horseshoe making, and horse-shoeing. They had 10 semi-portable coal (or coke) burning forges running hot and the guys got the iron cherry red and hammered and hammered. Powerful biceps muscles were the norm. Are you listening single ladies?

I might add, my husband is a Blacksmith hobbyist. I bought him 2 bags of coke ( a processed coal product, not cocaine) - how romantic, huh?

One thing about handmade iron products. They don’t break, rip, tear, spoil, or rot. If kept in damp conditions they might rust away in couple or ten generations. Who cares by then?

The champion blacksmiths were judged by a panel of 4 or 5 men, one from Europe. I watched the British blacksmith demonstrating some forging techniques. But it was a man born in Alaska and now living in California who impressed me. He had iron bent into horse heads, birds, and flowers, as well as fine utility hammers and many other ornamental and useful items. What a master craftsman!

In the end, I think it was another California guy won the competition.

Strike while the iron is hot, has a solid foundational meaning.

Rain, Yoga, Oranges, and Fiction

A light rain is falling this morning. It's so welcome because it has been achingly dry for weeks. In fact I was in Tucson yesterday and the high temperature was 80° (26°C) and even after the sun went down it stayed very nice. This was a record breaking heat. (It is January after all, mid-winter!)

This is my trip to Tucson--

At a craft store I bought paper items for the homemade Valentine's cards I am making for friends. At a discount store I got a second pair of yoga pants for my new avocation. On sale $13. I paid twice that for my first pair. But when I went to pay for it, the cashier rang it up for $15. I told her it was on sale and there was a big delay, much fumbling around, button pushing, cancelling, refunding, on and on. I apologized to the person behind me in line. Finally I was charged $13. Finally. It took them a while to get on "Target".

I discovered a new-to-me grocery (Sunflower) that carries organic food, bulk items, and wonderful fresh produce. The apples and oranges are things of beauty. Oranges are in season in Arizona but possibly these come from the Imperial Valley of California, which is only 5 hours away. The Imperial Valley is probably the most intensely farmed region in the US, especially in winter.

Since I have become interested in a lap top and an iPod (or an MP3/4 player), I window-shopped for them, checked out what is on sale. It is tough to decide what I will like, never having had these items. So I am soliciting opinions from friends.

My reckless, spur of the moment purchase is a book written by a Norwegian, Per Petterson. Out Stealing Horses was on my "wish list" for a year and when I saw it at a special price, I could not resist. I need another book like another hole in my head. But for a European author of this generation, who has horses in his novel, well, I have a soft spot.

So this is the humdrum day in my life. Rain, yoga, oranges and fiction.

Yoga

I started my spring semester class in Hatha Yoga. Now I wonder why I waited so long to do it. First class was mainly about breathing and what yoga is/isn't. I have my own yoga mat and I bought a pair of stretchy pants so I was prepared. My class is a mix of ages, experience and even has one man in it. He rides mules so I will have to engage him in equine conversation sometime.

My goal is to learn to listen better to my body and become more flexible and fluid. I am not really interested in being able to twist myself into a pretzel. But it would be very cool if I could one day do a full lotus.

For years I have tried to learn yoga from books and magazines. Today people think the Internet has all the answers. But there is something to be said for a pair of real eyes to guide one in a new direction. Similar to horseback riding, where one can learn to ride by themselves, but an observer can correct sloppy form by telling you that your stirrups are too short or your reins are too tight or you are leaning. Bad riding form does not always lead to falling off but it can give the horse a pain in the back! As for yoga, bad form is still yoga, but one will get more satisfaction and results if a knowledgeable observer can sharpen your movement.

I think I will go practice savasana.

For Baby-Boomers

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And Love will steer the stars

How simple life was when we were living in the age of Aquarius. But what the Water-Bearer brought was more of the same. From peasant blouses and flowers in our hair, to a ponzi scheme that financially wiped out millions of people. The full moon shines down tonight. We are all equally guilty as we were all so equally naive. The moon is not the source of light, it merely reflects the sun. We have landed several probes on Mars. After the flower, child, comes the cold hard winter. It is best that we come together; for surely we will die apart.

3 Months, Briefly

It has been awhile since I posted. Nothing much has happened. Except:

My husband had to be hospitalized for his heart.

Went on a 9 day vacation to southern Colorado, camped in 3 National Parks, took 200 photos, bought pumpkins from a Navajo guy.

My best horse died suddenly. **cry**

Changed medicines.

Rode motorcycles.

My back "went out" on me for over a week.

My neck was a pain, in the neck (oddly enough), for 4 days.

Started the Christmas madness, including walking on the house roof. Certainly is helpful that I am not afraid of heights or get vertigo.

Other than that, not much in my life.

Personal

I'm going to get personal now. Previously I have been very careful to not reveal the real Occam. After all, the Internet is full of weirdos, right? I have come to realize that I flatter myself that any weirdo would chose to harass me. So, here is the truth: I'm really a 5 year old beauty queen from Wasilla, Alaska. No? Okay, I'm really a retired sports hero in drag. No? If you really must know, I am a high school drop-out who won a lottery and my blog is ghost written.

I confess. Still not ready for those hordes of perverts I am sure will descend on my remote ranch, should my real identity be known. Actually it is for their own protection. My sweet, darling German Shepherd dog becomes curled lips, shiny teeth and low growls if anyone even thinks of coming down our driveway.

This will be a slight problem if I should have to be out of town for an emergency. Anyone engaged to come and feed the animals would have to stand 2 meters away from said darling, sweet fanged terror and throw food at her. I got her as an adult so I don't know what her previous owners did or didn't do to socialize her. But she's a pretty good guard dog, that's for sure.

Personally, I really love animals. I should have tried harder to go to Vet school. I like everything about them: when they are charming, when I have to clean up after them, when I have to groom them, administer shots, etc.

Possibly the only thing I dislike is when they die. I really hate that. That is something I am going to gripe to God about when I meet the Big Guy in the Sky. Why do pets have to die so young? Kids -and adults - have such a hard time with their passing, especially if violent. Maybe I should get one of those large birds; they have a long life span.

I will not accept the explanation that dealing with the death of animals prepares one for the death of people. I am really selfish. I want all my friends and family to live forever so I won't have to mourn them. I decided when I was age 11 that I was going to die young, so I wouldn't have to lose my parents. Well, that didn't work out. I had to bury them in 1993 and 2002. It's hard. No, no list of dead pet animals can prepare one for losing your dear parents. I am not even going to discuss losing a child. That is so contrary to the normal.

I guess I did get a little personal. Life and death is rather heavy though. No cute one liner to end this time.

Columbine

Columbine, or Aquilegia, is a native wildflower in the rarefied air in the high elevations of the Mountain. This showy, spurred yellow-flowered variety is a treat to find along streams or in damp places. It grows up to 4 feet tall, with it's lacy leaves looking fragile but somehow this tough, hardy perennial has survived fire, drought, logging, etc. and continues to delight explorers of the Arizona high country.

Moon As My Witness

The waning full moon is playing peek-a-boo with me in the scattered clouds tonight. The air is as still as glass. Moist, vegetal scents lay heavy in the warm atmosphere. I walk my dog and all is right with the world.

I was walking my dog in a deep dark night in early June when I twisted my knee so badly that I tore various elements inside my knee. Even though it was 2 AM and I couldn't walk, I knew I'd make it back to the house eventually.

Now I am 2 weeks post-op. That is, I had my knee surgery and I've been healing quickly over the past 14 days. You would have to closely observe me to detect any kind of favoring of my right knee. I've concentrated on walking as normally as possible. The doctor is rather astounded at my quick recovery. Even though at 253 years old, I am older than the Olympic US swimmer Dara Torres, her medal winning performance- in her early 40's - has inspired older women everywhere to believe that age really is just a number.

From the start I believed that I would recover completely and with minimal fuss. As the news got worse and worse: first just a little tear, then a large tear, then two tears, then there was severe arthritis - I steadfastly believed that I would not be overcome. I can do that with physical pain. I don't know how. It may be a gift. I don't think anyone would purposely want to be super-sensitive to pain but I know many people suffer immensely. I am fortunate.

I see the moon come out from behind the clouds. Coyotes howl and yip in the distance. A night hawk swoops by with it's crooked wings. I stand on 2 good legs. And smile.

Chew On Culture Snack, Then Digest

I was going to post this HAIKU poem on a friend's Facebook page but the application was down. Facebook's loss is your gain. It is just for fun and somewhat homophonic. And that has nothing to do with sexual orientation- you will understand homophonic after you have read the poem.

Summer, cicadas

Sunning in a Sassafras

Soon succumbing: Ciao!

I don't know if everyone knows a Sassafras is a tree with a noticeable fragrance; or if everyone knows that Ciao (Chow) is Italian for Good-bye. But a poet always takes a chance that the readers are going to have a blank stare after consuming poetry. Sometimes it needs to be digested.

What 30000 US Dollars Buys

Shortly after the last post I sustained an injury to my knee and was in a leg brace for a week. Then shortly after that, my better half climbed a tree up on the mountain and couldn't wait to come down the conventional way. The fall didn't hurt him; it was the sudden stop. He broke his hip. This necessitated the calling out of the Search & Rescue squad because he was in the forest, high up on a steep bank. They needed to use ropes to lower him down in a basket to get him to the road and the waiting ambulance. Then it took time to just drive down the mountain as this all occured at 8000 feet elevation. I met the ambulance and followed them into town to the hospital. He left leaves, needles, forest dirt everywhere he went. The trauma room looked like a campsite by the time he was taken to a regular patient room. They had to cut his good jeans off him and he was sad.

His hip was pinned back together in surgery a couple days later. Then he had a coronary event and scared everybody pretty badly. This resulted in a 24 hour stay in the Intensive Care Unit and delayed his recovery a bit. So when he was sent home from the hospital, he was quite helpless. People think I'm pretty helpless too, but I managed.

Now a little over a month since it happened, life is starting to resemble his Pre-flight. He is using crutches to go out to the garden to water his melons, etc. Yesterday we went swimming together. Tonight he put together a homemade spaghetti sauce. Oh I forgot to mention, he was so long without a smoke in the hospital, and he had so much trouble breathing, that he has quit smoking cigarettes. Yay!

Soon I plan to drive him back up the mountain so I can see the scene of the crime. What was he doing high up in a big old Pine tree? It is too complicated to explain. Doing a good deed. That will suffice. So much for good deeds. $30,000 USD later in medical expenses --

The Time Is Ripe

I watched a short video today. Two men were driving a lunch truck out in a deserted landscape. The driver looked confident but the passenger was doubtful. He turned on a dirt road and came to a large barren flat, stopped and opened up his kitchen area. The passenger gazed into the emptiness and sat resigned to his fate with this idiot who is parked far, far from any potential customers. Suddenly a meteor steaks passed and impacts nearby. Next scene is of the two men beseiged by hungry people who have converged on the site.

Funny. We can all put ourselves in the place of the passenger. We go along for the ride. It seems pointless. We lack vision. Of course knowing the place a meteor will impact is beyond most of us. But if we spent more time with our mouths shut, and listened with openness and expectation, things greater than selling hot dogs at a meteor crater will come our way. So shut off the TV. Get outside in a garden or a park or other natural spot. Observe. Listen. Shut off your preconceived notions. Where are you now? State facts, not emotion-ladened laments such as "in a mess", "not in as good a place as my family expects," etc. Stay only briefly on this. Then look ahead at where you want to go. Others have been there. It is not impossible. Are you willing to be a person who can sacrifice for a better tomorrow? If not, go back and sit down in front of the TV. Your time is not yet ripe.

Occam Trolls the Web

A while ago I added Carole's MS blog to my links. She's a Canadian woman dealing with a neurological pathology. Her writing makes you feel like you've been listening to your dear sister. And we become better, more compassionate people for it.

Another new blog is by Jiwan about his country Nepal. Jaw dropping photos and particulars right from the source can be seen on Nepal--Shangri-La.

I often troll about the web, looking for those individuals with unique things to teach us. So pop in to see my new friends. But please come back to the Double Barrel Ranch. You never know what I have up my sleeve for the next post.

Mother Nature Ends Fire

The fire wrapped itself up on May 23 because of the wet weather. A rare cold, wet system moved across Arizona dropping temperatures to near historic lows. Snow fell in the mountains, including Mt Graham. Snow fell just above the fire line, and over an inch of rain fell on the fire area itself. Occam has lived here 20 years and she has never seen snow in May, especially late May. She quipped to someone: Global Warming? But she read in the paper this morning that lately temperatures are actually running cooler than normal all across the country. Maybe the world. Does this mean that we are warming in reverse? What? Today the visible snow melted off the peak in the warming breezes. The dirt road portion of Swift Trail, as the mountain road is called, was never reopened after the fire because of the snow. Perhaps it will open tomorrow, now that the Holiday Weekend is finished. Our thanks go to the firefighters who did the best they could in the very difficult terrain of the Frye Mesa fire. Officially they are calling it 3100 acres burned. I'm sure they are at another fire somewhere now, maybe California. Our disaster has been averted, other areas are less fortunate.

Frye Mesa Wildfire, Day Three

Benefiting the fighting of the Frye Mesa Wildfire, the weather has turned remarkably cold and wet, and winds have decreased. This is a huge relief for the 321 personnel on site here in Graham County to aid in containing this combustion and a relief for anyone else who loves our Mountain. Evacuation of all the private cabins, public campgrounds and picnic areas was completed today. This situation has likely spoiled many a plan for the approaching big holiday weekend. Although they predict full containment by Sunday the 25th of May, it hard to say when recreation will be permitted to resume on Mt. Graham.

According to the Incident website, the fire sits at 3500 acres tonight. It is directly 5 miles west of me as the raven flies. There are no visible flames at this time. I'm unsure how much rain has fallen over there but we only got a wee bit. The temperatures have plummeted though. It is 49°F (9°C) at 11:30 PM. Incredibly chilly for late May. After all, it was 106° (41°C) just 2 days ago.

"Anonymous" has commented yesterday that the Frye Mesa Dam is "just fine". That is a relief. By analyzing the map, it looks as if the fire did burn mostly to the east, from Frye Canyon to Deadman Canyon. Both areas were burned in the 2004 Nuttal Fire also. Possibly the lack of taller, "higher story" fuels was an aid to holding this fire to the lower elevations. The higher story fuels being previously consumed by the 2004 conflagration.

According to the official sources, the fire began as a spot fire at 1:00 PM, that took off so fast in the high winds that by 1:15 PM they declared it out-of-control. Think of that the next time you are in a wildland setting and are a little careless with your campfire or smoking materials. Those prescribed burn folks were the "experts" and they could not control a spark, you'd have a much smaller chance and could possibly trap yourself or your loved ones. Nobody is beyond learning from this event, professional or casual tourist in the natural world. Fire is friend or foe. Do all you can to ensure it remains our servant.

Photos by David Peters, Bureau of Land Management.

Frye Mesa Wildfire, Day Two

Frye Mesa Wildfire. I stand corrected. It was human caused like 88% of all "forest" fires. (The May 2000 Cerro Grande fire, New Mexico, also started as a prescribed burn. It damaged the Los Alamos National Laboratories.) So sadly, the rumor has been confirmed: a prescribed burn got away from the Forest Service.

You know it is fire season in Arizona if the first thing one hears early in the morning is the sound of helicopters taking fire retardant to a wildfire. At 10:30 AM today it was listed at 1000 acres burned.

Due to the sustained winds, it has vigorously burned in an easterly direction all day. Helicopters and air tankers have been grounded since mid-morning due to the winds. Gusts of 55 MPH have been recorded here today. The incident supervisors are securing local equipment and supplies for a prolonged battle. The fire laid low this morning but after the wind came, smoke rose high all day. Tonight the smell of wood burning, so welcome under the happy occasion of a campfire, is a constant reminder of the loss and devastation just a few miles to the west of me.

The ultimate culprit of the fire is a noxious weed called Sweet Resinbush that infects Frye Mesa. Various herbicides were tried to eradicate it. Most failed to work optimally due to the weather being dry, or they caused damage to such native species as Barrel Cactus or Prickly Pear Cactus. It was introduced as an erosion control plant some years ago. Instead, it became a monoculture, crowding out the natives and ironically leaving the land even more susceptible to erosion. "The best laid plans of men." In addition, cattle and wildlife would not eat it. How could this error be rectified? Burn it. Unfortunately, somebody authorized the burn on a day that a Red Flag Warning was issued. The Red Flag indicates critical fire weather conditons exist because of high wind, low humidity and warm temperatures. Danger indeed.

Mt. Graham has a 7000 foot drop in 7 miles, a dramatic change that paints a clear picture of the steep terrain. The fire is burning up and down various canyons now, perpendicular to the slope up toward the crown jewel, the lovely highest elevations so carefully tended by man. That is the good news for now but the progress depends so much on the weather, and the skill of the fire fighters.

I keep wondering what has happened to the Frye Mesa Dam. A 107 foot concrete arch dam built 79 years ago, the small reservoir is stocked with trout in the winter months for anglers. At 4639 feet (1413 m.) in elevation, the sparkling waters are likely spoiled for many years, perhaps permanently. Run off after a burn is boosted for 3 to 5 years. Blackened soil, rocks, wood debris all flow freely from steep burned slopes. The spillway is sure to be under tremendous pressure. I imagine the whole existence of the reservoir and dam is threatened.

I'm trying to not imagine the horror in those canyons and ridges. Animals fleeing. Scenic glades ravaged. The orange glow and sparks are clearly seen from here. It is altogether unhappy. Rain, come soon.

Frye Mesa Fire, Day One

At first I thought it was a rain cloud on the mountain.

Then my better half spoke up and asked if I had seen the smoke. Smoke? It wasn't a weird rain cloud after all. Yellowish smoke was billowing off of Frye Mesa thousands of feet into the sky and obscuring the sun overhead. The temperature started to drop due to the shade. Frye Mesa is the site of a small dam and water collection area for the city of Safford, Arizona water utility. The city gets water from several sources but Frye Mesa has been contributing fresh mountain water for decades.

After nightfall the extent of this brand new fire, being driven by gusty winds, is quite terrifying. I estimate it has climbed up Frye Canyon or Ash Creek Canyon several miles. The sickly orange glow outlines it's destructive path.

Frye Canyon ends near the summit of Mt. Graham (above 10,700 feet elevation) at the multi-million dollar, world famous telescopes. Recently the newspaper USA Today characterized the Large Binocular Telescope there as superior to the Hubble; therefore, the best in the world today. Ash Creek Canyon ends at 9500 feet elevation at the Columbine Work Center of the US Forest Service. Also located there are dozens of summer cabins, a Forest Service visitors center, a summer camp, and a spruce-shaded campground I enjoy a lot. Obviously there is much at stake with this fire.

I have no idea yet on the source of the ignition. A rumor says it was a prescribed burn but a check of authorized burns does not verify this. Frye Mesa is home of an invasive weed that I know the forest service has been trying hard to eradicate, but I hardly think they would have been out there setting fires when there was a Red Flag Warning today with local wind gust of up to 55 miles per hour forecast.

I will up-date here as more information becomes available. In the meantime I have a front row seat to the terrorism of fire on a dry southeastern Arizona mountain forest.

Dog Fence

Occam's friend was visiting the man-made geographic oddity of Australia where the states of South Australia, New South Wales, and Queensland come together, and here she found the "Dog Fence". It was built over a number of years, to contain the dingoes, or wild dogs of Australia to areas of less agricultural importance. Dingoes evidently have a nasty habit of killing livestock for the heck of it, not for food. Featured in this photo is her Australian Kelpie, a herding dog. I just thought it was ironic to see her standing there with that sign, and worth sharing. Plus to show everyone a spectacular empty desert. My locality is positively rain forest in comparison. The date taken is April 25, 2008.

Barbaro (2003-2007)

I thought I would honor the late Kentucky Derby winner, Barbaro, today since the Run For the Roses this year is almost upon us. His struggle has enlightened the public to pressure for more research toward eliminating reasons for horses breaking down during races.

I've been to a dozen race meets in my life. I've never seen a horse break down during a race. I hope I never do. But it is bad enough to see on TV.

Barbaro won the 132nd running of the Kentucky Derby last year. Two weeks later, during the Preakness race he broke his leg in more than 20 places.

I don't know who took this spectacular photo. But to me, it combines the elements of the thrill of the race, the historic component with the Twin Spires of Churchill Downs, and the extreme popular interest with the jammed grandstand.

"To the victor go the spoils!"

Rest In Peace, Barbaro.

Brief Remarks

It is springtime in Arizona and that means wind. When we moved here 20 years and 5 days ago, it was a calm evening when we pulled in. The next day it turned cold and windy and the wind seemed to blow for 2 weeks straight. When the wind stopped, it got hot. So I am not going to complain too much about the wind. I don't have long hair. I don't wear dresses. Let nature do her thing.

A neighbor's horse had to be put down. It was only a 4 year old. Cause of injury leading to death was hooking his hoof into a "V" in a pipe fence. Cause of rearing that high to catch his hoof: stray dogs harassing him in his small pen. Yes, someone's Fido. The whole scene makes me sick. I am still too close to the date of the death of my own horse. And I will get her picture up here as soon as I figure out the bugs in my photo software.

My famous brand clothes washing machine has broken. It has a 5 year warranty. I've owned it 5 years and 2 months. Naturally.

The Pope is in the USA for his first visit, and to speak at the United Nations. He's going to tell them we should all get along with each other. I'm psychic. We should though. If we have a disagreement, we should sit down and have a watermelon seed spitting contest. The one who can spit the farthest wins the argument. Dominus vobiscum, Amen.

Noon Creek Waterfalls

Snow melt water running off Mt. Graham has enhanced this cold, clear, waterfalls on Noon Creek. As spring progresses, and the snows disappear from the high elevations, the creek will dwindle to a trickle. Then only run faster due to thunderstorms. No native fish are found here in this vicinity. Most pools dry up in summer. The water actually does continue to flow, but underground and invisible. In fact only a few miles from this cataract the water vanishes underground as it makes its' way east and north in the Gila River watershed. The desert mesquite trees tap it with their long deep roots. People too find it with water wells from 90 to 400 feet deep. As I read about the misery of people living near more robust streams and rivers who are suffering devastating floods, I contemplate Noon Creek. And I'm content with her nature.

Happy Easter

This image was sent to me. I just love it. I thought the rabbit was appropriate for Easter and the others are just icing on the cake. The puppy dog seems real concerned about these other critters which in the wild might be considered his prey. All God's Creatures, Great and Small. Do you think heaven will be like this?

Hiatus

Sorry for the long hiatus. It has been a troublesome few months. Keesha's health problems have improved but not resolved yet. Then on January 31 I held the head of one of my horses as she passed away. A sudden illness, not uncommon to horses, called colic, claimed her life at not quite 21 years young. Her name was Sasha and I'll post a photo of her soon.

Spring has sprung in Arizona though. New life everywhere. I am going to expect better days and better days will come.

Definitely I expect to write more regularly here.

On the National scene we are picking candidates to run for president and as someone described it to me, "it is great theatre" and so it is. Our method probably bewilders the outside world, as it generally bewilders most Americans too. But I wouldn't change a thing. Let the games continue!

My favorite US Football player has retired. Brett Favre will no longer be the quarterback of the Green Bay Packers. He was one of the most beloved football players in America. But the body, and mind can only take so much after so many years of top athletic performance. I wish him well. There will never be another Brett Favre.

I spent an entire hour paying 2 bills on-line because I had forgot my passwords. I finally finished the job, but I hope next month will be easier. That is what I get for having a mind like a sieve and not being able to read my own handwriting. Is that an "f" or a "t"? Hmmmm.

Well, I'll sift some more ideas around and see if I can't create more scribbles to amuse you, till next time, from the Double Barrel Ranch, Adios.

Keesha

We adopted this partbred German Shepherd from the Humane Society Shelter. She was close to going to puppy heaven. I've never had such a loyal, sweet dog. She even likes the cat. Amazing. She's had some health problems but once she is over them, I hope she'll live a long, healthy life. Welcome to the Double Barrel Ranch, Keesha.

The Cloud

A dark, ominous gray cloud sits to the south. Sunshine bathes us after a night of rain. The air is moving to the north. It is going to rain again. The birds are getting in their last songs. Rain is rare enough in the desert that I enjoy each facet of it. This will make digging in my garden tomorrow easier. The desert has many faces.

Green

It looks like I have been slacking off in my blog posting lately. It is not because I have stopped thinking. I've been reading a lot. Then there is the news that Al Gore won the Nobel Prize for his work in advancing the cause of "Green." I also heard he is selling his enormous Viginia home because presumably he realizes how un-green it is.

My house was green before there was a green movement. I could list all the features: using grey water to irrigate vegetation, solar panels that produce electricity such as the power my computer is using right now, etc. but I only designed these feautures because I love nature. In my neighbor when a contractor comes in to build a house, the first thing they do is bull-doze the site, leveling all the vegetation, sawing down all the trees. I almost burst into tears when I see that. My contractor only bull-dozed a narrow spot, leaving vegetation within an arm span of the finished house. They probably thought I was nuts. This was 1988, before the green movement remember. The natural plants that are here are the ones which are going to survive drought, storm, animals. And today I have a healthy animal community and diverse plant species - that I don't have to water.

I keep on thinking. I have found great insight on the internet, and utter nonsense. The Yin and the Yang... I'm thinking..... I really am.

Organisms in the Water

My annual battle with algae in the swimming pool has begun. The water is still clear but yellowish-green organisms are growing on the walls. Time to bring out the big chemical guns. Those expensive bottles of mysterious mixtures that do mortal harm to bad substances while being safe enough for your average fifth-grader to handle.

I didn't need any weapons to terminate the lives of 4 creatures who drowned in the pool overnight. I fished out a dead mouse, a dead toad, a dead tarantula, and a dead centipede. This is a highly unusual number of unfortunate non-swimming victims. Well, probably the mouse and the toad swam for awhile before succumbing. Maybe I should put little life preservers out in the water for them? After all, the ancient Buddhist saying is "May all sentient beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering." Or perhaps I could place small warning signs: Beware! Large body of water ahead. Enter at own risk! Actually, that sounds about right to erect for human consumption. I might add something about yellow-green algae and E. coli, that should keep people out of my pool.

Odd

I got the idea for today's blog from a gal in Tasmania. She had been asked to list six unusual things about herself. So I decided to do that also:

1. I am tall. This means I cannot find pants long enough, shoes big enough, and long sleeve tops with sleeves long enough to fit me. I am used to it by now though. I just assume clothes will not fit me.

2. I have never worn make-up. I tried it once as a young teen and I thought I looked so ridiculous, that I have never worn it again.

3.I'd rather drive a truck than a car.

4. I practice Yoga.

5.I've been baptized twice. Sprinkled as a baby and dunked as an adult.

5.I enjoy reading the dictionary.

6. And finally, I like the smell of vehicle exhaust fumes. But of course I know it's toxic, it's just that it doesn't repulse me.

Odd, eh?

I could actually continue on and on with these oddities but perhaps six is enough.

Memorial to R.O. (1937-2007)

But listen to me: for one moment
quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you. God.

-Rumi

On August 5th our community lost an eminent son. No, he never made the newspaper. He never had a medal pinned to his chest. But by his love, he moved many people to become more and better. He was a conduit of blessings from God to man. I can't help but be sad that he won't be among us anymore. But, God, I hear the petals falling around me.

Stuck With It

I've been doing a little study in comparative languages. (Did you know there is no future tense in Finnish?) Did you know that many languages have no spaces between words? As a native English speaker, I cannot fathom having a non-stop string of letters and being able to make sense of it.

Thinkoftheeatsshootsandleavesbooktoseehowenglishisvunerable.

Yes, I think labels are important. Words are important. Experience needs to be communicated.

Our thoughts can be brought from "out there" and felt in the gut. A good writer punches. A good writer slightly rustles the leaves and our nose picks up the scent. The sticky label is stuck to your skin and difficult to remove. A trace remains. You use a censored word synominous with animal reproduction. Other people laugh. They recall their own similar experience. It can be translated to all languages. We are moved, together.

Home of the Brave

When I was ten, my country was at war in Vietnam.

When I was a teenager, my boyfriends were all certain they'd be drafted and sent off to die in a jungle. They were brave boys. But my country wasn't brave. From that experience we don't want to repeat the mistake of not honoring our troops again.

Now I am 52. My husband served in the US Navy on a ship taking troops to Vietnam. Today the brave boys volunteer for the military service. We send them off to far lands again. Some die. Not many. Not like Vietnam. On the home front we advertise our "support for the troops". But still, my country is not brave.

In World War II, on average, 280 US soldiers died EVERY DAY. America was brave. We wanted to free people from oppression. We were willing to pay the price. We supported our troops. We sacrificed on the home front for them. My father served in the Pacific theatre in WW II. During those awful years we buried our military dead, we buried millions of civilians in the war torn countries, but we who survived and we who were born to those who survived, we hesitate - as a nation- to sacrifice again.

Physical Arizona

Arizona actually is quite varied in it's topography as can be seen on this physical map. My home is in the south east corner, between the mountain ranges. Phoenix is the capital and it is the most populous state capital in the US. It's located close to the dead center of the state. It is much hotter in Phoenix than where I live. Most of the lakes in Arizona are man-made, including all you can see on this map. Water is everything in an arid climate like this. Arizona is surrounded by Mexico, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and California. The 200 mile long Grand Canyon was formed by the Colorado River cutting jaggedly across the northwest corner of the state. The wide-spread use of central air-conditioning in this sunny clime has made the state attractive to new residents and it is now the fastest growing state in the USA.

The Decision

Recently I was faced with a chance to do something unethical which would profit me, I would profit financially from it and there was no chance that my action would be discovered. I didn't hesitate. I said "no". The vast majority of people may say I was stupid. I brought suffering upon myself because I wouldn't "cheat." It was a win-win situation if I said "yes." So why did I say "no"?

It is popular in today's world to believe that the ends justify the means. We are taught that we have "to play the game" to get ahead. One must have a positive mental attitude. Look at the bookstores, brimming with self-help tomes. You could fill your house with words on how to achieve success.

Unfortunately, when people get that success, they find it is hollow. An astonishing number of million dollar lottery winners are broke within a few years.

So, what can we do to make our lives meaningful? I am not going to tell you to volunteer to help Africa, get religion or join a 12 step program. Those are noble. But no. I am going to tell you to behave everyday with integrity. Be patient. Treat everyone as you want to be treated. (Where have you heard that before?) I may lose financially today. But I am at peace. I'll gain riches tomorrow.

Modern Behavior

I admit it. I am a babyboomer. A product of the 60's. The motto was "Question Everything". The generation before me had another set of morals. Today they are considered old-fashioned maybe. Men opened doors for ladies. Those men did not seriously think that women could not open the door by themselves. It was done as a sign of respect. Women bore the children of the next generation. They were highly invested in bringing those new lives, the product of both man and woman, into the world.

Then the birth control pill caused a seismic shift. Children could become products. Abortion on demand fixed any irregularities. Morals became "relative". Not many doors were opened for ladies anymore.

Recently a talk radio host found it easy to refer to a group of educated and physically gifted athletes- of more than one race-, as some "nappy-headed hos." He is an idiot. He also should have known better as he is closer to that more respectful generation than I am. All have been polluted by the downward pull of modern American culture.

Then we hear of a sick young man ranting in a self-made video, just before he goes into a gun-free (read="safe") school and blows away some innocent people. Men, women, teachers, students. Nobody stopped him. His rampage only stopped when he committed suicide. There is probably somebody out there who thinks they can do more harm than he caused. People cause all their problems.

Basically I think people try to do good, to get along. But there is a hole where respect used to be. Society needs to fill this hole in our moral fiber with a goodness that can reach those who look at others as bullet targets, sex objects, products of conception or evil personified because of their religion, race, ethnic origins, or bank account.

I still question things. Why is this country not what I had hopes it would be when I sang of peace and love in the 1960's? They were naive songs. Dreams of a child. But I remind myself: that character that I want to see in others, it begins with me.

Night and Day

There is darkness, there is light. I find it interesting that God first created the heavens and the earth, and then on the second day got around to creating light, separating the two and making day and night. So there is always darkness before light. Ignorance before enlightenment. Chaos before civility. In the womb our eyes are closed. I can think of one instance where there is light before darkness: when a camera flash goes off in your eyes. Very bright. Then you can't see straight. Gradually vision returns. One sees the heavens and the earth again. They didn't go anywhere.

Of course the 800 pound gorilla in the room on this topic is evil. When was there evil in the world? At first there was no law. All was natural. God saw that it was very good and rested on the seventh day.

I believe we have a propensity toward evil since those days in the Garden of Eden. We know what is right but we choose to do otherwise for a multitude of reasons. Eventually we don't even know what is right. What is right becomes what is expedient. Your actions follow your beliefs. Life becomes one narrow and selfish series of events. When things are all relative, then there is no vision. Without vision a person perishes. Darkness prevales.

After darkness is light though. It is a lie that one should abandon all hope when one enters the darkness. Here is a tiny candle for you, Dante Alighieri.

My Free Will

There were waves made recently when a travelling minister came to our church and said that God was not all-knowing, not omniscient. He claimed God was moving through time with us, which is why we truly have free-will.

It's an interesting idea, but so outrageous that I have to comment on it.

The first thing that comes to mind is how we can have prophets if there is no known future to predict? Did Jesus just hope he would be raised from the dead on the third day?

More serious, studious students of scripture do not question the omnipotence of God, but rather that beings have free will.

If I am given two options A & B and God is all-knowing, God knows I will choose A, God cannot be wrong. So if I cannot choose B, how do I have free will?

This argument is true in that:

-I can freely choose between A & B

-God is all-knowing

-God knows I will choose A

-God cannot be wrong

But the next statement does not follow. Just because God has knowledge of something does not mean that He makes it so. For instance, I love horses. If I am travelling in a car and someone notices and comments that there is a horse out in a field, I have a choice to look or not look. It is my free will. But God knows and everyone else who knows me knows that I will snap my attention to try to see that horse.

Free will and omniscience are compatible.

By the way, God invented time, that He would lower himself to be limited by this construct does not follow.

Birds

We spend too much money feeding wild birds, but they are so cute, we can't help ourselves. These are finches I think.

Found Poem

Here, try this one:

The Unknown

As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don't know
We don't know.

Donald Rumsfeld, Feb. 12, 2002

I love this!

Hameln and Greenland

I cannot emphasize how much fun it is to be a member of postcrossing.com. Yesterday I actually got a postcard from the home of the Pied Piper of Hameln. Now is that unique or what? Evidently after the children were led away, the adults got busy and had more children because the population there is now 60,000. (Just joking.)

If anyone wants to learn more about the people and places in this world, I can think of no easier way. Just make sure you have on hand a lot of postcards of your own area. Thankfully the whole project is devoid of politics. About the closest we get to politics is to complain about our various postal services.

I have a beef with my own post office. The substitute letter carrier, not the regular guy, delivered a book to me on Saturday and jammed it so hard into my mailbox to make it fit, that the wrapper and the cover of the book inside were ripped. All because they did not want to return it to the post office and leave me a card that I had an over sized package. My regular mailman just brings any big packages to my door. But that takes time and is above and beyond service. A "substitute" feels no such duty.

Postcrossing requires a lot of trust. You send out random postcards hoping that eventually you will get some in return. Sometimes the mail system is rough on cards and they never reach their destination. Sometimes people get lazy and do not mail what they have promised or even acknowledge that they have received this gift in the mail. But despite these pitfalls, hope springs eternal and everyday people join the postcrossing family, from around the world. Although everyone is hoping to get a postcard from Greenland, those residents seem reticent to join the family of postcard swappers. Do they have postcards in Greenland? I imagine they are pictures of glaciers, which I hear are melting. More land is being exposed and so the livable areas of Greenland are expanding. Maybe there is hope for more Greenlanders! The people of Hameln did it!

A.K.A. Woodchuck Day

Today is the thrilling second day of February when the notorious ground hog (Marmota monax) crawls out of his burrow to check the weather. If he doesn't see his shadow, as I heard happened today, it is good news. It signals an early spring. Now I live in Arizona where spring is always early. And we don't have ground hogs either. But I did peek at the expected overnight low temperatures in places I have friends: -19, -9, -7. and -1. That is painful weather. Here we might get a frost. It is the full moon. It always seems colder on nights of a full moon. There I go sounding like the "Old Farmer's Almanac". Must be the superstitious farmer in me. I'm not superstitious though. I believe things happen in a grand design. For which there needs to be a Grand Designer. And that character has a great sense of humor, to invent a creature like the woodchuck, to whom all honor goes, today, Ground Hog Day 2007.

Lombardi Trophy is "Stolen"

I am sorry to say that I don't have anything original to write today but I have another blog to comment on. Dr. Sanity. You can jump to her blog by clicking on the link I have here for her always interesting postings.

On January 26 she wrote:

"The Democrats lost the 2000 election. Therefore it must have been "stolen".

The Democrats lost the 2004 election. Therefore it must have been "stolen".

The Democrats won back some seats in the 2006 mid-term election to claim a majority in Congress. Obviously it was a completely fair election process overall.

Notice any sort of a pattern here?"

So, did you notice anyone protesting that the election was rigged? Did the media question any of the results? No? Hmm. What does this say about the civility of some political parties? I am not going to say who I voted for, but I've never questioned the results of the balloting. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. My team did not make it to the Super Bowl - where the Lombardi Trophy is awarded to the winners. I don't think that anyone "threw" any games. Maybe I'm naive?

Snow Party

There is a columnist in the newspaper that I read and usually find annoying. His name is Garrison Keillor and writing has made him a rich man. On January 25th he started his column describing the postive aspects of winter, i.e. shoveling snow, feeling like you are freezing to death, etc. He said we "need winter to enjoy summer, just as your kids need to work lousy jobs for low pay in order to appreciate having a car and an apartment." On January 22 I woke up to find 9 inches of heavy wet snow carpeting my area. Branches were snapping left and right under the unnaturally heavy load. I disagree that the native acacia tree in my yard that split off 2/3's of it's being due to being too much a desert tree not built for snow needed that experience to enjoy summer. They say it has been 30+ years since this much snow fell here. I have been enjoying summer just fine without shovelling snow and freezing to death.

But what really toasted my bread was Keillor's comments about the poor. Somehow his column morphed into political commentary and he advised us about poor people and that their grooming is poor and how you would not want to attend a party in their home. I felt like vomiting. It must be nice to sit on his high horse and throw scraps to the rabble below. You know Keillor, when poor people have enough money to throw a party in their home, they actually tidy up as best they can, and one can have a really good time if you overlook the fact that your skinny butt is not sitting on real leather. I've been to gatherings with the high and mighty and with those who don't have much further to fall, and it is much more fun to sit among the warmth of real people than to sip champagne with the big wigs.

Miracle

At exactly midnight this morning the first raindrops fell. All day it lightly rained off and on. Tonight the snow level is forecast to drop to 3500 feet which is just a hair above me. We haven't had snow in years. But maybe...tomorrow.

There has not been measurable rain here since I got home from my trip in October. The desert has been brown and getting browner. But this miracle will do a world of good.

My hometown is renown for rain and clouds which is probably the reason I moved to the desert. It has been a strange winter so far in many places. A jet stream driven wind blasted Europe, knocking trains off their tracks, felling huge trees, some fell on occupied cars and there have been dozens of fatalities. Ice has caused havoc in Texas and many other states. There was virtually no snow for Christmas in most places in the USA. But Colorado has endured unprecedented snowfall. Weather has always been a fascination for me. It ties in with my interest in plants and their cultivation. Last spring I planted my tomatoes outdoors in February. Other years we have had frosts as late as April 1. Drought has ravaged my orchard. What fruit the trees were able to produce was immediately ate by starving wild birds. I may plant nut trees this winter. Maybe they would be safer from birds.

In high school I studied Horticulture 3 years under a teacher who was nearing the end of his career. He retired and they discontinued the program. I was terribly offended. I was an "A" student.

After school I worked 5 years in a greenhouse growing every imaginable plant under glass. I had a green thumb. It has to this day remained my favorite job. And by far, my lowest paying. Every time the government raised the minimum wage, I got a raise. Then they had to give me a little bit more because I had experience.

I credited these experiences with my knowledge and interest in plant life, wild and domestic, and my refusal to give up on trying to grow green things in the desert. My choices have certainly been modified by the lack of regular rain miracles though!

Postcrossing.com

For the past few months I've been participating in a postcard swapping site know as Postcrossing. In just the last few weeks I've received cards from Italy, Germany, Brazil, Portugal, Finland, Slovakia, Austria and Japan. Today I sent a card to Luxembourg. The county I live in is larger than that entire country. My county is not the biggest one in Arizona either. Things are much more compact in other parts of the world. There are pluses and minuses to that. But something much of the world has in common is that they are interested in Arizona. I guess we can thank Hollywood for advertising our wonders to the world. One postcard said she was fascinated by the desert but didn't want to live in one! I actually knew little about deserts when I moved here. I was more moved by the rugged mountains which contrast with the desert. They are some of the most difficult in North America. The mountain that looms over me is only the 3rd tallest in Arizona, but it is not uncommon to have to call out the search and rescue to find someone who has underestimated it. Of course there is no comparison here to the Colorado Rockies or the Alps. But that a person could get lost in a pine-fir forest in a state known for it's cactus, is not a well-known fact.

On the other hand, I've learned much about the rest of the world from the random postcards I've found in my mailbox. For example: they watch American TV shows, they write impeccable English, they complain about the weather too. Dogs are loved everywhere. But first and foremost: everyone loves mail!

Freedom of Expression

With their way of life collapsing around them, the common folk of Nazi Germany still had a sense of humor, although at a cost. This was a joke circulating in 1944:

Hitler and Goering are standing on top of Berlin's radio tower. Hitler says he wants to do something to cheer up the people of Berlin. "Why don't you just jump?" suggests Goering.

Sadly, I read that a Berlin woman, who worked in a munitions factory, was executed for telling this joke in 1944. How different it is today in the USA where anyone can express their opposition to the government's involvement of troops in Iraq and this is seen as normal and acceptable. People at the execution of Saddam Hussein certainly had opinions. They were expressed at a socially inappropriate time, but they had the freedom to do so and I don't think they should be punished. Having bad timing like this should not be illegal.

Happy 2007

I've been sadly absent from posting here this past month. So I resolved that I will do better in 2007. There is so much to comment on, to laugh at, to communicate. May all your wishes for the New Year come true.

1 of 20 Questions

Recently I participated in a postcrossing game called 20 Questions. I sent a list of questions to a gal in the Netherlands and I answered questions sent to me by a gal in Norway. One of the Norwegian questions I think deserves some expansion.

What do you think the world will be like in 200 years?

The short answer I gave was that people will be more educated about each other's culture because we'll be more crowded. Except for the people on the moon.

NASA reports that they are planning on a base at the south pole of the moon by 2020. And this is only 14 years from now.

If we look back to 1806, we might get a perspective on 2206. Lewis and Clark had just finished their exploration of the future western United States. There were colonies all over the world, governed by European powers. Australia was just a penal colony. Asia was only of interest to Asians who did not reach out to the rest of the world.

Events are excellerating today crazy fast (as is the current fad to say.) Look at how the Internet grows on a monthly basis. One can find information on any subject that pops into your head, within seconds. The societies that keep their people in the dark about computers will be washed over and trampled by the technically elite. With such vast stores of knowledge readily available, people will be more enlightened. Cooperation will increase as we begin to look at people in other countries as people just like us, and not foreigners. Human misery such as Darfur will be impossible to sustain as we will all be effected faster.

It would be nice to be in a time capsule and awaken in 2206 to see what has happened. I believe it will be a better, although as I said, more crowded world.

Signs of the Season

Finally winter has shown its face on the Double Barrel Ranch. By this I mean we went below the freezing mark overnight and so we have lit the woodburning stove.

Another sure sign is that I dragged out the Christmas card list and a few decorations. I think Christmas is a good thing, even if there were no baby in Bethlehem. Society needs a season for giving and in the Northern hemisphere, a season to string extra lights to bring sparkle to the darkest days of the year. Heaven knows the retail markets need a centerpiece to ensure they make a profit. And the non-profits need our meditation on our good fortune to spring cash from our pockets for their worthy causes. Not to mention the tax advantages if one is so well situated that one is worthy to deduct charitable giving.

But I digress. Christmas is the season of joy and the measure of that expands and contracts over the days leading up to the holiday: joy at seeing loved ones, sending & receiving gifts and cards, admiring lights and decorations; then there is the un-joy of long lines, trying to get the right gift before they are sold out, spending too much, and a long list of social niceties that you'd rather skip but are obligated to follow. Everyone should have to do things they find less than enjoyable. It is for the common good.

I imagine God up in heaven with a large abacus. He slides a few counters to the good when we have the Christmas spirit, and subtracts a few counters when we moan and grouse. And we get a whole row slid to the good when we acknowledge the baby in the manger.