one step closer to red rock victory?

This article appeared in the Salt Lake Tribune yesterday. This is, of course, a spot of welcome news for anyone who loves southern Utah, or likes it, or visited it once and wants to remember it being pristine, wild, undrilled, unraped, and unviolated in our continuing quest for more more more in our super-sprawl world.

Now, let's get a few things straight here. I was not an Obama supporter. I was not on the Obama-mania insanity train. I did not, nor do I now, think he was the savior of all things American. He is a politician, he is imperfect, he said things in his campaign that were designed to get him elected, and he made promises that probably not even god could keep. I supported Hillary Clinton all the way (yep, she has warts too, but I liked hers better), but had to shrug when she lost the candidate ticket. Don't trust the guy. He's a politician, yo!

I voted Green. Big surprise, no? ;)

However. All that being said, let me then pontificate further and note that Barack Obama appears to be waaaaaaaaaaaaaay better than that doddering, clueless old McCain and that hysteria-inducing joke of a running mate Palin--better, at the least, for the southern Utah wildlands. As the article says, the transition team is already aware of the public sentiment and action taken thus far on preserving this landscape, and the team seems to be interested in taking immediate action on further preservation. As immediate as they can, that is.

A few little things you can do to help:

-Go here and send a message (whatever you think of SUWA, that stirrer of hyped-up emotions, they can lead you to where you can take action);

-Check out the Obama change website to leave a comment about this situation. (Or, of course, any other situation that suits your fancy. Although for my purposes, you'll comment on the Red Rock Wilderness Act.)

-Go out and bop a stupid conservative narrow-minded idiot over the head and hope it encourages him/her to start thinking with his/her heart as well as head, rather than just pocketbook, party lines, or rigidly held and unquestioned religious beliefs. (Okay, don't really do this last one--but, hey, it's fun to dream, eh?)


*Babcia update: she's strong and tough, my grandmother. The pain is hard to watch, and they don't seem to know why it's happening. Can I note again that I am still not a huge fan of Western hospitals, medicine, and our stupidly tangled healthcare system? Too many cooks in her broth, so to speak. And I'm not convinced they're communicating clearly amongst themselves.

one step closer to red rock victory?

space to stretch

Being back in the vast, gorgeous (yes, it can be, believe me or not) sprawl of Southern California is interesting on a variety of levels. But most pressing to both me and Pippin is the amount of space in which we have to stretch. Or rather, the lack of said space.

This being a state of 30 million people, several million of which live in SoCal, there are leash laws, houses pushed up against one another, a mass of lights (my stars have just about disappeared), sidewalks, and just an overall sense of being squished. Pippin, being the good cattle dog that he is, needs LOTS of exercise. Lots! And he ain't getting it right now. So that means I have a spazzy puppy when we do go out. He needs to run, run, run, and play hard.

At the Arroyo Seco recreation area, this great little place of semi-wilderness in suburbia, one would think dogs are allowed off-leash. I remember always taking my dogs there and letting them romp freely. But no longer. Oh, sure, people still do. But I've warned in low tones of the cops who patrol and give out several-hundred dollar fines for the sin of being leashless.

And the main culprit is a bike cop, and bikes aren't even allowed in Arroyo Seco! Not cool.

Anyway, I generally try to be a law-abiding citizen, and I truly understand why leashes are a good thing. Dogs can be intimidating, they can bark and lunge when startled or threatened. There are also horses in Arroyo Seco, and I of all people understand the potential dangers of that combination.

But damn, it's so hard when I have a dog who needs to run lots and hard, and he can't! I'm trying to find a nearby dog park. I heard there's one at the Rose Bowl, so I may check it out. He needs to wrestle hard and tumble freely with another dog.

I too am missing my wide-open desert spaces. I haven't been able to yodel, or run like a maniac, or dance freely in the moonlight here. I suppose I could, but wow, does a crush of people intimidate! Being here right now is lovely in so many ways, and the energy of so many people is immense, and the warm air is pleasant, and there are men I don't actually know who flirt with me--such a novel concept! ;) But I also feel the need to stretch, to move, to shift my muscles underneath my skin and let them breathe. Sitting for hours in the hospital probably hasn't helped either.

Perhaps the lesson here is to make my own space to stretch? Even while in this place where rubbing shoulders with others happens just by inhaling deeply. Hmm...I think Pip and I have to go out now and find our place to stretch and run among the millions here. :)

*Babcia update: holding steady. She was moved to a step-down (less intensive care) room last night, which is really a great sign. But, of course, we are still guarded in our hopes. But still accepting prayers of all sorts...

space to stretch

calling all healing prayers

The unexpected parts of life make for good plot twists in books. In reality, however, they can suck.

My grandmother's in the hospital, has been for about two weeks now. I came to California about 12 days ago to support my mom and see my grandmother as much as possible. It's been really hard. Babcia's hanging in there after two major emergency surgeries, because she's damn tough, but the ultimate prognosis leans toward her passing on to whatever comes next. But it's so damn hard to say, because the multitude of docs (she has a specialist for every part of her body, and then some) each seem to have differing opinions and attitudes. Which is confusing and leads to see-sawing of emotions in the family members.

Anyway. I want to get back to writing here regularly again, and trying to normalize other areas of life, while at the same time continuing through this process and allowing self-examination flow. Do let me note, I never want to be hooked up to tubes and be flattened on my back in a hospital bed for so long, drugged out of my mind with the pain meds. Especially not as an elderly person. I firmly believe some of the nurses and perhaps doctors too do not give elderly people as much of a chance. Everyone expects them to die anyway, right? (Me, sounding bitter.) A family member, mostly my mom, has been in my grandmother's hospital room almost every second, just keeping an eye on things and being with her, whether or not she's aware of it. Someone who loves her and knows her medical history needs to be there to advocate for her.

It's been an eye-opening journey thus far. God, we are so hung up on the young, the vital, the fresh, the new, the pretty. Anything but age, please! That scares us so in this ridiculously puffed-up culture of ours. Especially out here in Southern California, La-La Land, home of the fake and the eternally young. (Me, sounding bitter again, not entirely fairly. This is a diverse place. I just have a touch of myopia right now.)

So, all healing prayers are accepted right now.

In other news: Pippin is having a challenging time adjusting to co-existence with the cats at my mom's place. He has this ingrained need to chase them, if only they would run! But he is also quite respectful of their strong claws and scary hisses, which they use to excellent effect when necessary. Ah, my little Pip. He's growing up! And I still have strong hopes for his future career as a movie dog. He is a darn cute thing, as random strangers often tell me. And being out here galvanizes me to take some action and get him to an audition or somesuch. (Look at me, jumping on the young-and-cute bandwagon after my earlier diatribe. Well, she says in defense, he's a dog, so it's different.)

Will keep you posted on all events...

calling all healing prayers

ahh, fall mornings at 7,000 feet

Fall has been descending on Wayne County in fits and starts this year. The colors appeared on the aspen trees up on the mountain—ooh, aah. Very pretty, of course. But one could still view them while hiking in shorts and a tank top. Nighttime temps dropped a bit, of course, but days were still gorgeous. Then we had our wild winter storm a week and a half ago, in which the wind went crazy as it is wont to do here, it snowed, the clouds scudded through the unforgiving sky, and the wind made that eerie, hair-raising moaning sound when it forced its way through the cracks around one's doors and windows.

Then the temps shot right back up, the wind left, I lounged by the river in shorts in a tank top and was rendered almost comatose by the drowsing sunlight. The sky was crystalline blue, the rocks were glowing red, the air was blessedly still. Loved it.

Then yesterday the freaking wind again. I'm very serious about the WC wind (locals sometimes call it Wind County). It can be horrendous, ridiculous, a howling fiend that knocks over enormous trash cans, rips your car door out of your hands when you open it, and brings flashing images of Kansas and Toto and a little girl in a blue checked dress on her way to the land of those kind of creepy munchkins. I stayed inside.

This morning, my little atomic radio clock read 65.8 degrees F at about 8am. When I stepped outside the house, it definitely felt quite a bit chillier. (Although, thank goodness, no wind.) So I put my trusty little clock outside and left it for about a half hour or so. When I returned to check, it read 35.8 degrees F.

I quickly retreated indoors again. Hooray for warm houses and coffee! Pippin quite agrees, as he is flopped out on his favorite blue chair right now:



Aahh, fall. I must say that 35.8 degrees outside bodes well for my writing this morning. That said, I'm back to it.

ahh, fall mornings at 7,000 feet

plump moonrise

Wow...I was outside at about midnight last night, letting the pup out for his last pee before bed. Got to see the moonrise, which was spectacular.

First, we noticed a 5-point buck (mule deer) and some does standing stock-still in the middle of the dead frozen garden. Pip pointed for a moment, then bolted after the creatures. They bounded away in enormous leaps, of course, having freaking Slinky springs in their legs or something. Pip made sure they were safely gone from "his" property before returning, tail up high. It's deer season right now, so all the smart ones have come into town where they cannot be hunted. Gorgeous.

Then I was treated to the sight of the half-moon rising, hanging low and full and glowing orange-gold on the eastern horizon. So, so beautiful. Classic view, streaked by dark clouds and all. Aahh. I did a little dance of appreciation for getting to see such beauty.

Shiver of joy. These are the moments I truly adore living here! If only I could take good nighttime pictures. That would have been a shot to share. Alas, you'll simply have to imagine it...

plump moonrise

chickens everywhere

I'm housesitting right now. Part of my duties include tending the chickens (plus three ducks and a turkey, which apparently will be someone's Thanksgiving dinner this year).

Chickens are interesting little critters. There are about 20 or so of them here, and they seem to run the gamut of chickendom. There's a crazy-looking one with wild feathers coming out the top of its head and flopping down over its eyes. A rooster that faithfully cock-a-doodle-doos in morning, even if it's still in the little chicken-house because I haven't yet stumbled out of bed to release them into the rising sunlight. There's a very sweet orange-red-creamy-colored one that rushes right up to me whenever I'm in their pen and looks up at me adoringly. Perhaps it's just hungry and wants to see what sort of treats I may have brought. But it's still very sweet in its attempt to communicate with me via Chickenese.

I get to benefit by having as many fresh eggs as I want, warm from sitting under little chicken butts all night long. Pippin already enjoyed one (an egg, not a chicken butt) mixed in with his dry food this morning. Of course, I also have to guard against marauders, such as the rather pleasant-appearing little cat that was just in the pen. The chickens (and ducks and huge turkey) actually didn't seem to mind the cat. I wouldn't either, really, since this particular cat is on the small side, and it really didn't seem at all interested in committing any feline mischief. But just to be on the safe side, I deposited it on the other side of the fence.

Ah, life in the boonies. I need not worry about drive-by shootings, commuters insane with traffic-induced rage, or smog. Nope, all I have to concern myself with is keeping the chickens safe. And then eating their eggs. Bon appetit!

chickens everywhere

that dratted mercury retrograde again

Damn, have the past several weeks been wild and chaotic, or was that really just me? One good thing about NOT having any money in the stock market is that I didn't lose any. However, my other money flows have seemed a bit dry. This particular Mercury retrograde was the biggest, craziest one of the year, and it's a good thing it ends tomorrow. (Though beware reverberations for another several days or so!)

Mercury rules over communication, travel, finances, and mechanical things, among others. Be careful when it retrogrades, because things usually go haywire (see world financial markets as a glaring example). Here's my story from this one:

I ordered a jacket and a pair of running shoes from an online site back in August. I hadn't ordered anything from this site for several years, but they were having a killer sale, 50% off their outlet prices. Couldn't resist. My new goodies arrived promptly, but the shoes, alas and alack, were too large. After waiting around for a few weeks (typical me), I finally boxed them up in early September and sent them back for an exchange. And I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The first week in October (the retrograde began Sept. 24), I emailed the company and asked if they were going to exchange my shoes ever? They immediately replied, just about falling all over themselves with their "sorries." The shoes would be mailed right away.

Fabulous, I thought, and went about my week.

However, no shoes. Again. Then, oddly enough, I received an email form the company asking me how my shoes were! Interesting. What shoes, I wondered? So last Thursday, I checked the UPS tracking info (love that), and discovered that they had been delivered to "front door" on Monday the 6th.

Huh. I looked at my front door. Nope, no shoes there. Asked the landlords. Nope, no shoes up there. Wow. Bizarre. See, the local driver, Russ, knows everyone around here (not hard considering how small the area is). He certainly knows who I am and where I live. Russ, however, has had some time off and there's been a sub driving.

Aha. I then got even more clever and called UPS to see where, exactly, the substitute driver thought my front door was. And lo and behold, the package had been mailed to the correct address, all right--that is, it was correct about five years ago, when I last lived there. Which was the last time I'd ordered from that company. Meaning they still had that address on file, apparently, and someone got very, very confused (um, a little "retrograded," perhaps?).

Luckily, I know who lives in that place now, so I called them up. Well, plot thickens again. Some years back, when the state got all GPS-happy and mandated street signs for every single dirt road in Wayne County (I kid you not--there are street signs on little dirt roads that lead nowhere, ending after about 200 feet), they also discovered that some of the addresses folks had had for a lifetime were off. So the place I used to live, 4150 1/2, is now 4200. And the other house up that road is now 4150 1/2, and that's where my package ended up.

Still luckily, I also know the people in that second house (yet another benefit of small town life). Mark was surprised to see a package for me--he hadn't looked at it too closely and assumed it was for his wife Mary). And after even more time, I finally ended up at his house and retrieved my package. On October 11, almost two months after I originally ordered my shoes.

And the shoes fit. And I am happy. And that, dear folks, is why Mercury retrograde deserves a wide berth. Because if it can fuck with you, it will.

that dratted mercury retrograde again

ancient pack rat poop

Maybe I just have a thing about poop lately, but this is actually kind of cool on a few counts. First off, a little discussion about pack rats. They apparently are rather intelligent, quick, resourceful, and quite adaptive, considering how long they've been around. They're also the subjects of scientific studies. Little creatures, being picked apart (so to speak--hopefully not literally, unless they're already dead) by highly-educated human minds. We are interested in the strangest things, aren't we?

I've rarely seen the little critters around here--but let me tell you, they are definitely at home in the high desert Southwest. How do I know that for sure? Big, unmistakable piles of pack rat poop, crammed into the nooks and hollows of the rock walls. Like this:Yes, that is a pile--a wet, totally gross pile--of pack rat shit. Interestingly enough (to me, at least), I often find it very near ancient settlements. This pile is dripping from the rocks right by this handprint:
Curious, no? Well, according to my biologist friend Dave, pack rats are known to poop in the same spot their ancestors did--as in, for the last 10,000 years. So the new poop is on top of very old poop, practically fossilized by now.

The mind boggles.

So the next time you're out and about and come across one of these impressive leavings, look around for ancient corn cobs, pottery shards, and rock art. I'm sure the resourceful pack rats lived among the humans for the easy food access, and habit kept them there centuries after the people left. Guess it's better to have one toilet rather than hundreds scattered about...

ancient pack rat poop

homeland, again

On the topic of home again. I ran across a fun article today, from Inside-Outside magazine, a little rag I read all the time in Durango, but which I have not found out here in the back of beyond. The article is about Hanksville, UT, one of the little Wayne County towns. Hanksville is home to--well, read the article and you'll find out. It mentions Mesa Farm Market, a little organic farm with lots of heart in neighboring Caineville. Mesa Market is run by a playful man, who is also a musician, named Randy Ramsley. Several friends work on the farm, including Beth and Tim. They had a hard spring, and there's a Harvest Benefit being held for the farm next Saturday, which I am excited to attend.

There is so much to be said for community--especially when said community is in such a small, isolated, wild area! Pulling together in times of need is so damn important. I am feeling a part of this place again, and I love it. It's odd, actually. I've been a bit of a hermit all summer long, not fully participating in community. Feeling so busy between day job, writing, and personal goals that demanded a lot of solitude and contemplation.

But this is still home. I am home, in my community, no matter how I have been (or not) interacting.

What is home for you? What makes it home? Is it place, is it people, is it ritual and ceremony? Is it familiarity?

Part of home is, for me, a certain knowing that simply makes it so. This is home. And I just know that.

homeland, again

moon dancin'

The moon is almost full, folks! Dance madly! I love the almost-full moon. It's a sacred time to me, from my vision quest last year...and it's pretty damn cool anyway. I mean, the moon. Amazing.

So dance, everyone! Just go outside and flap your arms and wiggle your butt in the moonlight. If nothing else, you'll feel silly, and therefore laugh (even if it's at yourself). And generous laughter is always a beautiful thing.

I'll be doing it too, so you won't feel too lonesome or too silly. ;)

moon dancin'

private sojourn; or, can I please poop in peace?

Okay. This is a bit of a rant. You are thusly forewarned.



I have loved the wild spaces since I was very little, and I have done many things in the mountains and deserts over the years. Ogle great views. Nap under pine trees. Camp for days at a time. Cook. Clean dishes. Attend to bodily functions. Now, this latter can be somewhat horrifying to those city folk who must have their toilets and flushing conveniences, but for those of us who wander at will, the great outdoors becomes a comfortable place to do what a bear does naturally in the woods.



This is a situation to which I have been accustomed. Need to go? Find a private spot, dig a hole, and there you have it. Certain rules are followed (don't leave tp behind, cover it up, don't do it near water), of course. And honestly, I'd rather use a clean natural spot with a gorgeous view than a stinky, disgusting pit toilet, as are commonly available at the outdoor places frequented by humans.



But I digress.



This summer, people have descended upon Wayne County like flies. In some respects, this is of course a good thing. The local economy needs them. My tips depended on them. But wow--were they everywhere! I felt surrounded by my kind as never before. On one day off, Pippin and I went exploring up on the Velvet Ridge, this gorgeous redrock cliff that runs east-west to the north of Hwy. 24 between Torrey and Bicknell Bottoms. We drove up early in the morning, midweek, and had a fabulous time marching across the land, looking for arrowheads and the like. I found an old, dried deer shed and, of course, petrified wood. We took in the view. We avoided a few ATVers. On the way in, a boy who appeared to be approximately 12 was driving a tractor behind a truck as they tooled up a two-track road, presumably to grade areas flattened by rushing waters after all the rain we'd had. Folks, that's a lot of people out there.

And back at the truck, I stepped behind a bush for a pee.

When I was done and stood up, I heard someone walking along the ATV track on which I'd parked. Someone walking nearby. Someone walking away from me. As in, the person had passed by me while I'd been peeing. Apparently, peeing visibly.

Okay, you say. You were a little too close to the road, Julie. Got what you deserved, if someone saw you peeing and quickly walked away!

I politely disagree. First off, it's not a road. Second off, who the hell are all these people invading my land? (Grr, the adoptive local snarls.) Third, what the hell in general? I leave for about two years, and this place is overrun.

Can a person not pee, poop, or whatever in peace out here anymore?

I know, I know. I am ranting, as warned. And of course there are miles of areas where no one roams, and people poop outside often. But I like, need, and crave the open spaces here. I'm a southern Californian by raising, one who took to this area with an eagerness that likely befuddles most who live in the smoggy area my family still calls home. I want it to be open, empty, little travelled, private.

Things change, of course. And look at me--this summer, I work for an outfitter and actually take people out there to the sacred, secret spots. (Well, not all of them, that's for sure!) But even so. The wide spaces seem to keep shrinking. I know more people will visit here, and more people will live here, and that's fine. That's expected.

I just ask for a little more space, a little more privacy, a little more solitude. Especially when I'm out answering the call of the wild, in all its forms, out in the deserts and mountains I call home. And that's all I have to say about that. (For now, she says in dire tones...)

private sojourn; or, can I please poop in peace?

thunder and lightning, oh my

Ooh...big storm rolled over us today. I thought with some trepidation about the guide and guests out on the mountain, clearly in the thick of the sturm und drang! Pippin cowered in the bathroom and shook at the sound of the sky rumbling and spitting. And the surprised visitors flocked in and asked about roads, weather forecasts, what to do when faced with this unexpected deluge on Labor Day weekend.

What to do, indeed. If you had my life, today you would have taken a group of very fun people out riding this morning (pre-rain), and then spent the afternoon in the dry comfort of a building.

Much as I love weather, and have spent many, many days and nights outside in the hearty wildness of it, all year long, I am also quite grateful for the indoor life we humans have created for ourselves. Hooray for warm and dry indoors!

And on that note, now that it's stopped raining, I'm venturing back outside...

thunder and lightning, oh my

lost 'n found

Again, I bask in the beauty that is southern Utah. I mean, really. This place is stunning. See the pics from my latest discovery, a place called Lost Lake located high up on Boulder Mountain. Look how clear the water is!


A very satisfied puppy with his big stick in the sparkles:


And there's Eli, with that jewel-colored water behind him (this one's for you, Chris!):


On the way downhill (don't they look like they're about to fall off the edge?):


Me on my favorite guy (Two Bit) with the view that never fails to take my breath away:



This place is full of amazing secrets and yodel-inspiring vistas. Quiet contemplation and joyful abandon. Can't get enough of it. Ahhhhh...

I watched the Hillary Clinton speech at the DNC the other night at a friend's house. Very refreshing to watch Democrats speaking while I reside in this vastly Republican state! Anyway, when I drove home about 10:15 or so, the stars were simply crowding one another in the moonless sky. The Milky Way was abundantly spilling forth, and a summer lightning storm was flashing in the sky to the east. I just had to pull over and park in the desert to watch the show with Pippin (he seemed more interested in disappearing into the dark than sky-watching, of course).

Using my truck's hood and windshield as a sort of chair, I leaned back and took it all in. The lightning, conducting from what seemed to be a single, huge cloud, was of the sort that would produce a ferociously huge and perfect bolt that shot to the ground and stayed there in crisp relief for long seconds before vanishing. The clouds lit up, the sky was revealed, and since I was many miles away, there was no threat to life and limb. What a treat to enjoy. The desert is truly the best place to watch the sky shake and shimmy and dance. I loved it with every fiber, and watched with eyes that just want to take in the whole world.

And this night, I saw the undersides of the clouds above the Velvet Ridge glow in tandem with the rocks from the sinking sun. The light leaves earlier and earlier...summer is closing.

So I need to go out and do as much as I can before winter descends!

lost 'n found

Benedicto: peace

It has been so gorgeous here in redrock canyon country the past week or so. Clear, sunny days. Cooling at night--fall is coming! It's been the perfect time to explore the mountains. Today is a visit-the-river and bask in the sun day, later in the afternoon. The sky is a solid, unbroken bright blue. The cliffs and mesas and hills and mountains are crystal clear and unbelievably sublime. The air wafting in the open door and windows is clean and gentle.

In a nutshell, it is one of those days that makes this place, my chosen home, so utterly wonderful. I am quietly at peace, thrilled to be here. The immensity of the land, the solitude of the spaces, the neverending beauty of all that surrounds me, everything nurtures and nourishes and succors my very being, my soul.

Ah, it's great to live here! At this very moment, I am completely happy and in harmony with my life. And really, what more can we ask than that?

I leave you with one of my all-time favorite quotes, "Benedicto" by Edward Abbey:

Benedicto:

May your trails be crooked,

winding, lonesome,
dangerous, leading to the most amazing

view.

May your rivers flow without end,

meandering through pastoral valleys

tinkling with bells,

past temples and castles and poets’ towers

into a dark primeval forest where tigers

belch and monkeys howl,

through miasmal and mysterious swamps

and down into a desert of red rock,

blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and

grottoes of endless stone,

and down again into a deep vast ancient

unknown chasm

where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled

cliffs,

where deer walk across the white sand

beaches,

where storms come and go

as lightning clangs upon the high crags,

where something strange and more beautiful

and more full of wonder than your deepest

dreams

waits for you—

beyond the next turning of the canyon walls.

—Edward Abbey

Benedicto: peace

fallin' in love again...

...with southern Utah. This place is just so beautiful, it can still steal my breath. My good friend Ellen just visited, and we went to two places we had not seen before: Singletree Falls on Boulder Mountain and Box Death Hollow in Escalante.

In a word, wow. These spots are part of why this area is so special, so in need of mindful growth, and just so emblematic of how vast and sublime this world is. See for yourself.

So Singletree Falls is found east of the Singletree Campground, an easy 1/2 mile hike with a view of the desert almost the entire way. And what a view that is. The desert is a jaw-dropping spectacle no matter what time of year or day. Pippin the cute wonder-dog enjoyed the view as well.

Box Death Hollow wilderness near Escalante, UT, is also fantastic. We drove 150 miles round-trip for a four-hour hike, and it was so, so, SO worth it! There's a lovely road called Hell's Backbone (also the name of a restaurant in Boulder, UT) that we drove over--amazing views, which were also somewhat dizzying. And then the wilderness itself--we hiked down a canyon that made it seem as if we were in Oregon, no joke. Staggeringly high walls--up to 1500 feet of sheer sandstone beauty--a very clear running stream (Pine Creek), and wild raspberries--yum. It was the hike that had everything.

Enjoy the photos...visit the places...and remember that our voices are what save these gorgeous spots on earth for many, many future generations to cherish as well.

fallin' in love again...

let it rain

So the last week was pretty much a long Pacific Northwest moment out here in the desert. Rained...and rained...and rained. Then it rained again. I think I'm moldering.

Now, rain is a very good thing here, don't get me wrong. We always need it, out here in the land of little water and much hot land. But really. There comes a point when enough is enough, and I reached that point twice: first, a corner of my living room got wet (from pipes, not the rain) and both the carpet and the wall got moldy. Black stuff grew on the white wall, and weird fungus-y mushroom-y things grew from the carpet.

From. The. Carpet. Which is not, and should not be, organic material from which more organic material should sprout.

That is just wrong in a desert environment. It reminded me why I decided not to live in Portland, OR, many years ago, after I visited to check out the law school to which I'd been accepted (I had a fellowship and all). Because it rained the entire three days I was there, in June, and this Southern California sunflower just about drowned. I skedaddled home south and never looked back.

Anyway. Second time this week I realized I'd had it with the overabundance of wet: because the corral where the horses I work with live became absolutely mucky, icky, and filthy with a lovely combination of wet mud and horseshit. Ever try walking in that to catch horses who aren't sure they really want to go out into the rain with wet tack and people wearing flapping ponchos and loud thunder and lightning?

Oh, yes. There is a reason I live in the Southwest, and it involves rain at a beautiful modicum. I love it when it rains here, and strongly brings out the scent of the sage, and the earth itself. That is beautiful and stirring. But rain every day? For hours? For an entire week? No. Uh-uh. Ick.

Do we need the rain here? Of course! Am I happy it rained? Uh...sure. Mostly.

Just ask me again when I've dried out. Until then, my thoughts are too soggy to be intelligible. I need the hot desert sun to bake me back into life.

let it rain

rivers run through me

I must first begin by asking what happened to July? Time = weird.

But on other matters: rivers. I realized some time ago that rivers define me, surround me, soothe me, call me, and offer me sanctuary. I've always been drawn to rivers. The gurgles and rushes and trickles, the rumbling sound of boulders and rocks being moved along the streambed, the meditative quality of the endless play of water against the earth--aahhhh. It's lovely, it's filling, it's soothing, it's invigorating.

Many rivers have rumbled through my soul over my lifetime. The Fremont River, of course. The Animas River in Durango. The little stream that runs briefly and then dries up through Eaton Canyon in Pasadena. Countless others. Carcass Creek. The river that runs off Mt. Baldy. The Merced River racing through Yosemite Valley.

Oceans are great. Lakes are serene. But really--give me a river. And it's not that I fish, or run rapids (shudder), or canoe or kayak or even tube float all that often. I just like rivers. Simple. I sit by them, I read, I dream, I write, I nap, I stare mesmerized into the flashing waters, I cry, I laugh, I splash water at friends, I skip stones, I watch my dogs play. I live my life by rivers, in a sense.

And how beautiful is that?

rivers run through me

lil' bighorn

So I led a ride down Pleasant Creek in Capitol Reef National Park today. This particular section of the creek is in a beautiful canyon, with huge sandstone walls towering overhead and plenty of petroglyph (rock art pecked into the rocks by ancients peoples who lived there) panels throughout. The creek meanders along in lazy manner, and the multi-toned hues of the cliffs against the intense blue of the sky invite quiet introspection.

I love that canyon, its beauty, its accessible remoteness (hmm, oxymoron?). We encountered no other humans on our little jaunt, which of course made sense, as few venture deeply into the more desertlike areas in high summer. And it did get warm, into the low 90s. But the with creek at our side or underfoot the entire time, and with the early afternoon clouds shadowing us, we managed just fine.

My favorite part of today's particular trip was our bighorn sheep viewings. We saw sheep twice. The first time two of them (females, we thought) burst out of some bushes lining the creek when we were in the cliffs above them, looking at petroglyphs and apparently making threatening noises. The way they leapt up the cliff! It was amazing. They must have super-sticky stuff on the bottoms of their hooves. No, really, you have to see it yourself to truly understand how these animals simply--glide up the rock face. As if it's nothing, as if gravity does not exist for them, as if they are walking on flat and level ground.

The second sighting involved about seven or eight of them, including two little ones, one of which was quite curious about us and peered down from her aerie perch, perhaps trying to determine what sort of foreign sheep we were. I wish I had pictures...but alas, I left my camera at home today! Oh well...memories of the cute lil' bighorn will just have to sustain me.

lil' bighorn

fire season

The skies have been very hazy here recently. We have had fires burning over in Escalante and on Boulder, but the majority of the smoke is from the NoCal fires, which helped push all fire activity in the U.S. to a level five, which apparently is rather a challenge, as continuing fires might strain our nation's firefighting resources.

As if we don't already have enough going on!

(Hmm, I sense messages from the ether. Um...stop screwing with the environment. People, get educated. Pay attention to our (dwindling?) resources. Live more wisely and with less waste. Etc. Etc. Etc. Sigh. Yet it seems to be in our nature to deny, deny, deny--until we can no longer deny because it's all blown up in our faces. Sound about right?) ;)

My body notices the smoke here too. My nose and throat mostly, which have been more irritated than usual. And my eyes, which have been demanding eye drops almost daily.

Yet we still have plenty of people visiting our little corner of the Earth. Smoke or no, high gas prices or no, faltering economy or no. Which of course is good from a business standpoint, and certainly helps my pocketbook.

Although on the 1/2-day ride I took out yesterday with the boss, up to Blind Lake on Boulder Mountain (must put some pics up here, it is SO gorgeous there. Always been one of my favorite lakes), we got stiffed on the tip. And, interestingly enough, we both chalked it up to the fact that the family was Mormon. Now, that may be unfair of us. Yet it is also within the realm of each of our experiences, so I see a connection.

Life. Neverendingly interesting and unexpected. Who knows what shall happen today! Hopefully for me, a nap is in the works this afternoon...supposed to be 95 here today. Icky. Icky. Icky. And not conducive for being outside!

Hmm, but very conducive for writing in the coolness of one's lovely basement apartment....

fire season

a little morning musing

So far this morning, there's been

-a gorgeous red sunrise (does that mean weather later on today?)
-a black dog trotting purposefully through the yard
-a very cute little skunk walking right past the strawberry beds in front of my door (nervous moment for me, Pippin, the landlady's cat, and the skunk, all at once)
-journaling on the outside steps with my coffee, the sunrise, and the dog & cat playing chase and "spit" (as in, the cat does that unique feline spit/hiss/leap when the dog gets too close to her)
-the anticipation of taking 24 people riding today...eek
-yoga, yoga, how I love thee...how my muscles love thee
-being connected to the online world right here at home...love that
-the wonder of what else this day may hold

And it's not even 8am yet! Cool.

a little morning musing