little green buds

Ah, Utah. Home to glorious red rock vistas, alpine meadows, sunny blue skies (or tempestuous storms as have lately been visiting us), and...uh...pot farms?

Yep. One of the larger busts of a pot plant "grow" was just discovered right by my house (relatively speaking), up on Boulder Mountain in lil' ole Wayne County. There is a rich history of growing marijuana in southern Utah, it seems. (Who knew. I pay more attention to ancient ruins and OHV tearing up of the land!) Apparently, as crackdowns on illegal grow operations have stepped up in other states (hello, California), the growers have been moving their tidy little money-makers to federal lands throughout the West, including rural Utah.

Now, all this has many implications. First off, let me clear the air about my own viewpoint on pot. Do I really care if people smoke it? Nope. Have lots of friends who do. Heck, one of the medications my grandmother is on right now is Marinol, which is basically synthetic THC that can alleviate pain symptoms in patients. And there are certainly more alcohol-related car accidents and deaths than, um, any related to pot, as far as I know. Should pot be legalized? I believe it should, with all the usual details to make it as safe as possible for users. Would save taxpayers and law enforcement a lot of headaches. Not to mention make life easier for terminally ill people, among other things. I mean, come on--pot sales probably bring in more money for the state of California than the entertainment industry! Anyway, my two cents. And no, I personally don't smoke it. The control freak in me doesn't like the effects of pot on my system. :)

However, pot is still illegal, and grow operations exist all over, and they are potentially dangerous. And that part gives me serious pause. Here are some reasons why:

1) Probably most of the "garden" tenders are harmless, possibly illegals themselves, who are just trying to make an extra buck (or thousand). But that may not always be the case. Some of those arrested in grow-related incidents were armed, and anytime a person feels threatened, there is the possibility s/he will try to defend her/himself with whatever weapon is currently handy. I don't particularly want to stumble upon a grow operation while out hiking alone (or with friends, or guests) while the tenders are there, and possibly armed and jumpy.

2) Ahem, this is not exactly the intended use for federal lands! Pot grows mean water diversion (in areas that already struggle for water), chemicals dumped into the soil via fertilizers (I somehow doubt the growers are using environmentally-friendly stuff), and people knocking about as they lug equipment far into the back country, probably ignoring any sort of notices about fragile soil, revegetation areas, local fauna, etc. I mean, if you're growing illegal little green plants, you probably don't give a darn about other rules, eh?

3) The growers might be tempted to make grow areas as uninviting to hikers or other outdoor enthusiasts as possible. This could mean a little bit of danger at the most, annoyance at the least. I don't know exactly what they might do, but I'm not sure I want to find out.

4) Well, sure blows my theory about solitude in the wilderness, no? A pot farm in the forest or desert seems to taunt the sacredness of wild spaces to me. If I want to get out, meditate, contemplate, hike, rediscover my connection with the earth, just knowing that grow operations, possibly tended by people who certainly don't want me anywhere nearby, might be out there in my perceived solitude just takes away some of the spiritual beauty and meaning.

A pot farm probably does not have the immediate hazards as, say, a meth lab, of which busts in Utah have been common. But even so, I just don't like it.

So watch out for fields of unnatural green when you go hiking...because I'm sure these grows aren't going to stop anytime soon.

little green buds

for Ronan

Ronan, I don't know if you can hear me, but listen to me now: You ARE my family. Peace and amazement to you on your journey, which has come too soon.

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer’s call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull’s eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I’ve heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

-Rumi

for Ronan

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

The wandering ways and days of Everett Ruess caused much speculation in many folks over the last 75 years. The young explorer of the wild, wild West disappeared forever in November, 1934. The last signs of him were seen at Davis Gulch, a prohibitively remote area near Escalante, UT. His beloved burros were left in a corral there, not long after his last known contact with people, a couple of local sheepherders.

His body was never found. Until now. According to the Ogden Standard-Examiner, human remains discovered near Comb Ridge, Utah, are most definitely his.

But it seems as if the skeptics still abound. It is intriguing, to be sure. His burros were found 60 miles from his body. How in the heck did he travel that distance without them? I say, duh--he was bopped over the head by the "bad guys" (opportunists, more likely), who took all his worldly goods, headed west, and left his critters holed up near Escalante. Or something like that.

At any rate, I understand the desire to hang onto the romance of this old mystery. It hooked me too, years ago, when I first moved here. I've read his journals, I've dreamed about discovering clues to his death. And...if this is case closed, then that's it to the dreaming, the wondering, the curiosity.

Although the cynic in me foresees a biography (David Roberts, I'm looking at you), more articles, more people making their names on his brief life and much-debated death, the romantic adventurer and idealist in me longs for more. More information, more mystery, more knowledge to tuck close to my heart and soul and bring out and re-examine on a cold evening.

Cheers to you, Everett. May not all your mysteries be discovered nor solved. Because when I wander in the canyon country, I like to think your spirit whispers out there too, guiding my footsteps and lighting my dreams.

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

touching my ancestors

Today I looked at potsherds and arrowhead pieces and broken ax heads and irregular marbles hand-fired years ago. I touched the intricate paint designs on the snapped pieces of bowls and mugs, licked my finger to touch the paints and make them come alive in deep, rich color, as if new. The whorls and swirls of mud pushed together by hands long since returned to dust bumped under my questing, delicate touch. I imagined the Fremont, the Anasazi, the tribes I'd never heard of, my visions fuzzy, possibly romantic, certainly not quite accurate. But my imaginings were very earnest and respectful, no matter how they might lack in precise truth.



I imagined myself. I felt their pain, their joy, their simple acceptance of daily existence. I touched their lives, broken and scattered in my palms, and it was only afterward that I thought, This might be all that is left of this person. A broken shard of mud, claimed from its ancient desert resting place by eager, modern, white hands. This might be all that is left of an entire human life.

What do we leave behind, anyway? How much? Why? And who will see it, feel it, in some distant and unknowable future? Who did I touch today, anyway? And how will I ever know that person? Can I actually understand, fully comprehend, the life of someone who lived so long ago, in such a different way than I do?

Doubtful. I mean, I barely comprehend myself in all my complicated, complex, blazingly simple human glory, right?

But I do understand that I hold history in my hands as I look at the shards of pottery. I do understand my link, tenuous as it might be, to these people who hundreds of years earlier roamed this very area I now call home. I can make up stories about them, conjure up their lives, a moment in their day, which might be fired in part by movies and books and snippets of overheard conversation during my lifetime.



I can hold a piece of them in my hands, and I can link myself back to them, and I can touch my ancestors, no matter how far removed they actually may be from me in cellular or geographic or cultural terms. This little piece of mud is me, and you, and it might be the only thing left of us when we too shuffle off this mortal coil. So handle with care.

touching my ancestors

ATV rant

I mean, it's not as if I would PRAISE ATVs. Of course this is a rant. But as it is late, this will be a gentle rant, dear reader.

Stay the @#$#*&$ on the roads meant for your use, ATV riders. Or can you not read the signs that clearly state, "No Motorized Vehicles"?? (And in case the answer is No, actually, I can't, as I'm a morally bankrupt illiterate--well, may I kindly point out that said signs include very clear PICTURES also indicating No Motorized Vehicles.)

So. The most current history behind my rant is from a few days ago, when I took riders (that would be horseback) up toward a gorgeous place called Lost Lake. As we left the road part of the trail to hit the trail part of the trail, guess what greeted my wondering eyes? Yep. Signage, pulled out of the ground and flung (flung, I tell you) carelessly aside, barricading rocks & tree limbs hurled elsewhere, so the oh-how-pretty ATV gouges could destroy the trail, making it five times as wide as it had to be.

I almost said Very Bad Words in front of the guests, but I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I sighed and explained to the Easterners (East as in Massachusetts, not as in Oil for which we spill too much blood) why I was upset. They agreed it was uncool.

Luckily, the trail is a really hard-core one, and the ATV tracks petered out after a few hundred feet. HA! But those hundred feet really did not need to be churned up as they were by some troglodyte (love that word) on his burly man-toy. (Yes, that comment is a bit sexist...but you understand where I'm coming from, right? I'll find stats on ATV gender use and post them sometime.)

God, it just pisses me off. What the hell is wrong with people? How freaking hard is it to stay on their own trails, follow the rules, and think, Gee, I bet there are other people in the world beside myself who might have different viewpoints on things like trail destruction?

Grr. Rant, rant, rant. I'd've taken a picture, but I was so mad I forgot about my camera in the saddlebag. (And you know, for anyone out there ready to take a deep breath and holler about how livestock ruin the land as well, let me point out AGAIN that this particular trail is open to Hikers and Horseback Riders. Period.)

Okay. I suppose this is another example of how being angry can be constructive. Lookie here, it got me writing again, did it not?

Well. I feel a bit better now. Thanks for listening! And remember: if you must ride ATVs (let me throw in here the little tidbit that someone who was riding an ATV in a nearby area over Easter weekend had an accident and is now PARALYZED from the neck down), please follow the rules. There's enough fricking road for you, already. If you want to see the backcountry, get off your ass and walk into it, already.

Signing off, the irate defender of the wilds (and user of ALL CAPS too, apparently).

ATV rant

hibernation

Winter is the time to slink off to one's cave, lick life's wounds, and reflect while keeping one's back safely to the wall, no?

I have been in deep hibernation for the past six weeks, it seems. Time has swung for me crazily, veering in and out and sometimes standing still.

I slept. I dreamed. I moved. I cried. I giggled. I contemplated.

I did not, however, write.

Back again, waking up to the world in a slow, leisurely stretch. Gazing around, blinking, taking in the whole bright world through one cracked lid at a time.

Welcoming myself home. It feels good. And, oh, the writing muscles. How they both long yet fear the impending workout!

Good thing I'm surrounded by red cliffs, snowy mountains, and friends. It's what buoys me now as I plunge back into the world....

hibernation

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act, take 17

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act is about to take center stage again. SUWA provides several links and general information about the act, which has been floating around for some time now. It has been nurtured by several fierce and tenacious political advocates, and of course many unknown people just like you and me.

The current administration, far more friendly to our lands than the last joke (uh, I mean administration), shows convincing signs of being very receptive to the passage of this act. As the SUWA page says, "The 111th Congress represents a real opportunity to gather the support and momentum needed to hold congressional hearings and ultimately pass America’s Red Rock Wilderness Act." That is a refreshing thought that certainly causes hope to beat wildly in my chest.

Wilderness At the Edge: A Citizen Proposal to Protect Utah's Canyons and Deserts was published years ago in an attempt to represent enormous concerned citizen effort to raise awareness--and save the red rock lands they loved. The message got through to some people in power, and those people still champion the need to protect and preserve these lands.
Take a moment. Contact your representatives (see this link for information on how to do that) and share your voice with them. Remember: if the people we chose to represent us do not hear our voices, they can't fight for what we want.

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act, take 17

jump ship and save yourself

Ah...I've been a bad poster this month. Life getting in the way and all that. As they say, crap happens. Some days, it's just more crap than usual.

Wandering the crowded southern California landscape as I have been of late, I notice many things about its bipedal denizens. What strikes me most is the air of urgency, of entitlement, and of myopic vision. That is, many seem to see only what's right in front of them--blocking their way--and do not take time to really be in the moment. To really see their surroundings. To understand that the suffocating concrete wilderness that they call home is perhaps a trap; even more, to understand that it is one of their own making.

Sometimes people here do not seem to be really living. They're existing, sure. But are they paying attention to their own existence? Do they really know who they are and what the heck they're doing, as they zoom and carom around, pinging off one another with barely an honest glance, intent on hurrying to the goal of--what, exactly? The all-powerful god of mass consumerism? Getting through the day in order to fall insensate before the altar of surround sound and 24-hour satellite channels beamed in from around this frantically spinning globe?

I want to reach out. I want to hug someone with jumpy, flat eyes, and say, Go. Go to a truly wild spot, one with fresh air and solitude and a tree with which you can commune in silence for an hour. Remove yourself from the madding crowd for just a moment, and blunder and stumble your way back to who you really are.

Perhaps then we can really talk. Perhaps then you will meet my eyes and look at me, really see me, and allow yourself a deep, cleansing breath as you pause in the midst of the chaos we call modern life.

Or maybe not.

jump ship and save yourself

dusting oneself off & movin' right along redux

Time for an oldie but a goodie. This posted originally in November 2007, which seems an eon ago. It resonates with me at the moment for several reasons. Yes, I have once again destroyed my laptop. (Just a little incident involving a jumping mug of tea...) Yes, I freaked out. Yes, it has been a lesson in humility, loss, and eternal querying (Really? Again? Why me? Etc.). Yes, I had to speak to the Disembodied Technical Voices in India over the phone, which meant lack of clarity on, I suspect, both ends.

Have I learned something? Good grief, I hope so. In the meantime, I still write...and actually, I have slowed down a litle bit and am enjoying other things beside my laptop. Bizarre, no? (Says the passionate advocate for the wild spaces and getting out of our own heads and away from people-stuff such as technology. Snort!)

Here it is:


This whole laptop-has-crashed-and-burned-in-a-mighty-conflagration thing is, as usual, providing me windows of opportunity I might have otherwise missed. (Despite the fact that I really did not want this sort of window--or maybe, come to think of it, because of it? Hmm...philosophical brain twisting in the morning.) Some of the windows include these gems:

1) Forced to either write on my friend's computer (which is okay, but I tend to keep my writing very private and secured), or by hand, such as journaling more. Ah, the old-fashioned way. It does bring the writer closer to the words themselves, makes me think about my choices more carefully, because there is no delete button, nor a backspace....There is only commitment.

2) Strongly encouraged to stop freaking out about this potential loss and simply enjoy what I do have, which is plenty: loving family, generous friends, a spectacular place in which to live at the moment, my mind and its endless machinations & cool new ideas, on and on the list goes. I really am blessed--just have to remind myself of that at times.

3) More time to read! Watch movies! Hike during this amazing fall weather, which is perfect! Talk to friends and acquaintances! Visit and play with my horse! Practice yoga & meditation! Etc., etc. Gifts, indeed.

4) Space to explore the quiet, patient side that I generally lack. I have been a downright hermit lately, and it's been grand.A friend (thanks, Dan) sent me a quote I want to share here, because it's really apt in this moment:

"Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito wing that falls on the rails."
--Thoreau

I'm letting nutshells and mosquito wings veer me off-course, which is silly. Things happen, and we all really do go on--just perhaps not in the way we expected before the calamitous event. Another friend pointed out my ability to find gifts in the challenging moments, which was a great compliment and meant a lot to me (thanks, Shelley!).

One last gem, the kind that will nurture me for years to come: the other day, I was sitting in a local coffee shop with a friend, grousing a bit about the unpredictable nature of the wilderness therapy industry and proclaiming my own personal doneness with it. Then one of my recent students from the field, one I'd worked with for two shifts (16 days), came in with his parents. He'd graduated, and they'd just finished up their family workshop. I met his folks, noted how centered the student seemed, and we had a brief conversation.

And during that short time, he said to me not once but twice, "Thank you, Julie." And I heard and saw the sincerity resonating through his every fiber, and it just meant so much to me, and brought that sort of smile to my face that can only come from the recognition of right action, of having done something well that touched another life in the most positive of ways. And my last week out with that particular group had been so, so difficult! You never really know how your presence affects another.

At any rate, I want to thank broken laptops (sigh), unforeseen opportunities, a young man named Thomas, and my dear friends, all of whom have helped me in these past weeks to get up, brush off the dust, and just keep going, even if the smile has sometimes slipped from my face.

dusting oneself off & movin' right along redux

Salazar's doin' ok by me so far; or, oil & gas leases cancelled

Cool beans: Interior Secretary Ken Salazar put the kibosh on the oil & gas leases today. Yippee! Although it only involves the 77 parcels that were up for grabs in the "fire sale" back in December, that's a tremendous victory for us desert rats and otherwise suspicious-of-greedy-oil-company types.

Unfortunately for that brave (foolish? Your thoughts?) activist Tim deChristopher, Salazar's decision does not have any bearing on his case. Of course, I say just let the kid go and let's spawn an entire future of sales-disrupting activism to spring up--but I'm also a bit biased.

Well, blow me down with a feather, or something like that. No oil & gas drilling near gorgeous areas? Near where I, or my friends, or our descendants might like to roam, unobstructed of view and lung? Sounds pretty damn peachy keen to me. HA!

Take it on the nose, o greedmongers out there. The people roared, they were heard, and they were righteous in this victory. (Sorry, I'm feeling a bit punchy today. Need to lash out at someone!) As Sharon Buccino, a senior attorney at the Natural Resources Defense Council, said in the WaPo article linked above, "We can have energy security without sacrificing the West's wild places."

Yeehaw. I might need to celebrate a little. :)

Salazar's doin' ok by me so far; or, oil & gas leases cancelled

on the power of sunlight

I am sitting with my grandmother in her hospital room. She has been in the hospital for three months now--three months!--of which she has been conscious for about the last five weeks. Something that really strikes me here is the seeming alarm about sunlight and a view that some of the hospital staff seem to possess.

I open blinds to let sunlight into my grandmother's room. It hits the bed, creates a gorgeous backlight behind her flowers, brightens a tirelessly, endlessly routine space. It slips up over the sheets, lighting her mostly still form beneath the blankets and her cherished yellow robe with purple flowers from home. The light touches her face gently, its afternoon winter rays weak, yet strong enough to illuminate the healthy color in her skin, the still-lively smile that pulls up her lips when she teases us.

But the workers ask, when they see the opened blinds, Won't the sun bother/hurt/annoy her? Won't it get into her eyes? Doesn't she prefer it closed?

Oh. Well, why did I not think of that? Shutter the light, keep the air stale and still and unnaturally lit, and of course she'll get better. Why did I not think of that before? Silly me and my frightening love of the light. The sterile, cold environment is best for healing.

I wax sarcastic, but it stems from months of uncertainty and varying healthcare and wildly differing opinions. It pains me to think how oddly fearful urban and suburban dwellers seem to be of our own sunlight. (My fingers keep slipping on the keypad and I write "sinlight" by accident. Interesting, no?) Some of that trepidation is culturally created, with all the genuine concern about skin cancer. But really. We need at least 15 minutes a day of direct, glorious sunlight on our bare skin in order to obtain vitamin D. And for our souls, our psychology, our humanity, I think we simply need to be sun worshippers, in the best, healthiest definition of that label.

Do not fear the light. Do not shut it out, do not always replace it with a pale artificial imitation. And please, please, do not withold it from our suffering and ill, locked away in our places of rest and wellness and recovery. They need the sun. My grandmother needs the sunlight, to remember that she is human, that there is a world out there still awaiting her return. And I, for one, will gladly let that light fall across the beautiful, soft, lined map of her face. She's every bit as worthy of her place in the sun as anyone else.

on the power of sunlight

natural bridges, naturally stunning

Found this article in the the Salt Lake Trib today about Natural Bridges National Monument. As the writer says, it is off the beaten path. It is gorgeous. I do recommend visiting it if you're so inclined. Generally, it's not a destination in itself, but part of a loop, since it is waaaay in the boonies.

I've been to Natural Bridges twice--maybe three times? There is a paved road one can drive with little stops that overlook breathtaking parts of the park. You can of course also get out and stretch your legs with a hike. You know me--move your rear and get up close and personal with all the sights out there. But I think a lot of people just do a drive-through en route to somewhere else. (Guilty as charged on that count myself! I was headed to Colorado for a workshop and short on time. Judge not lest ye be judged, yadda yadda yadda.)

The sky is dark, with no large nearby towns to drown out the starlight. The land itself can be immense, silent, so vast and fierce against one's puny humanness. And the remnants of the ancient ones who called the place home are scattered throughout, provoking creative speculation among the more speculative-minded.

Sigh...I'm longing for Utah right now. I miss the canyons, the natural stone bridges, the bright skies, the star-pocked canopy of night. Thank you, o random article, for reminding me where home truly is...

natural bridges, naturally stunning

some Sunday contemplation

Sundays are made for contemplation of one sort or another, are they not? Today feels particularly contemplative. It is cool, overcast, and rather quiet. The ground is still saturated from yesterday's downpour of blessed water from the sky, which of course came originally from the ground, and before that from the oceans and rivers and lakes.

Sometimes the circle of life makes my head spin. How amazing is it that we know so much? That everything works so perfectly, if all is left to its own devices? How do people figure out things? Who takes the time to look at a given thing--say the cycle of rain--and really understand how it works?

People from an earlier time, that's who. People who were not so distracted by television, the Internet (ahem), movies, their mobile devices, the generally fascinating world of humans at large. Those people still exist today, obviously. There are many throwbacks among us. I'm one, for example. While I loves me my online world, I'm also a sucker for sitting in silent wonder in a dusty little depression in the ground, surrounded by towering cliff walls and unknown scratchings on those very walls by long-dead hands, wondering to myself who those people were, why they wrote those symbols in the sandstone, and what their lives might have been like.

I'm missing the red rocks just about now.

So. Because Utah isn't the only land imperiled by blind human "progress" and ego, here are some links to contemplate yourself:

A friend just saw the movie Red Gold at the Banff Film Festival last night. She was so moved by it she cried, as apparently do many who view this film. There is a town in Alaska, Bristol Bay, that calls itself home to the last wild salmon hatchery in the world, and it is of course threatened by The Pebble Partnership, ye typical big huge corporation with an avaricious glint in its eyes, which wants to build an open pit mine at the headwaters to dig up gold. You can see the trailer at the Red Gold site, and it's a breathtaking cinematographic experience just in that snippet. And here's the blog site of the filmmakers, Felt Soul Media, with updates on the town. (Odd tidbit: Mitsubishi has a 10% stake in Pebble. Huh?)

For even more info, check out the following links:

Save Bristol Bay
Bristol Bay Alliance (seems to be a bit outdated)
The Pebble Partnership (the mine's site)
Stop Pebble Mine
The Pebble Blog at the Alaska Daily News

Seeing this sort of organizing, this public awareness-raising, makes me feel good. You know?

And here's some stuff going on in Wyoming: the Red Desert (never been, but it looks amazing) is being attacked by, you guessed, that dastardly old Bureau of Livestock and Mining. As usual, it's all about the oil and gas development. Shocker that, no?

Ah. Enough to contemplate for one morning, is it not?

some Sunday contemplation

i'm vibrating with rage at the moment

Okay...this is basically off topic. I've read about this before, and just ran across a Facebook group about it.

So there are truly sick and twisted individuals in China (be careful not to get angry at the whole country, although it's very tempting) who SKIN ANIMALS ALIVE. Dogs and cats. Every day. For their damn fur. Because of money. And, apparently, because they get off on torturing living beings?

A group called Animal Saviors is trying to raise awareness about it. Check it out. Please sign the petition. Please forward it.

You may not want to watch the video. I didn't and won't. But I will remember. This is the kind of thing that brings murderous thoughts rising through me in a bright red haze. Very, very hard to extend compassion to the people who do (RIGHT NOW! They are doing it right now.) such things.

Good god. I need to go throw up, cry, scream, or something now.

I may just have to write about it. Using my voice is sometimes the best (only?) tool I have.

i'm vibrating with rage at the moment

oh, those land lease updates...good times!

Ken over the San Juan Alamanac beat me to the punch today with his link to good news about the Utah land leases, detailed in the L.A. Times. The Salt Lake Tribune had the story two days ago (naturally, since it affects Utah more directly). Hoor-rah! So. Why is this a good thing? Because all indications point to the incoming (tomorrow, phew!) Obama administration being much more receptive to conservationist ideals, land preservation, careful and educated approaches to land uses, etc. etc. In plainer terms, it seems that the folks on his team might be more, ah, kind and gentle to Utah's lands. (My personal jury is still out on Ken Salazar (Interior Secretary nominee), but we shall see.)

Here's what the Salt Lake Tribune had to say yesterday about the juxtaposition of the incoming team and Utah's land interests. They also point out that Salazar is focusing almost exclusively on energy concerns, letting fall to the wayside very important concerns like off-road ATV use (which pisses people like me off to no end). That issue is of growing concern, fueling ugliness and downright violence all over the place, such as the ongoing issue in Garfield County, Utah, that went on for quite some time. I agree that energy concerns are vital right now. But we can't forget all the details. This is when delegation becomes an essential ingredient of governing. Hey, Mr. Salazar! Put me to work on the ATV yahoo issue. I'll be part of an eagle-eyed team on that subject.

It's exciting to think about the possible future. One of my favorite activities is just wandering red rock country in southern Utah. Really. Just wandering. It can get so silent...the space is so vast, and so beautifully unfilled by people, that the silence can actually ring in your ears, pounding along in rhythm with your heartbeat. The flap of a raven's wings might be the only sound breaking the silence, along with a brief croak or two as the bird scans the area and lets you know, as it passes overhead, that you are in its territory and it does indeed spy you down below, o flightless human. The smell of the pinyon pines, the lack of human trash or footprint, the abundance of jackrabbits and pack rat droppings and imaginings that fill the landscape...ahhh. The thought of that remaining untrammeled, undrilled, and simply being, is what excites me. We all need places where we can just be, can just exist, can wander without worry, secure in our simple connection to the land.

Doesn't the land itself also need such space to just be?

oh, those land lease updates...good times!

San Juan Almanac

Yes, two posts in one day. Gasp! One of my hazy writing goals (I say hazy only because I wanted to "write more" in general) for 2009 is to post on here much more regularly. So far, so good. But...check back in June and pull out your scorecard then. :)

I've been invited by author and blogger Ken Wright to participate in his latest online venture, the San Juan Almanac, with the tagline of "All things Southwestern Colorado."

But Red Rock Writer, you say. You don't live in southwestern Colorado anymore. This is true, dear reader (all three of you faithful folks). However, I did live in Durango for a while, and it was there that I discovered his writing, which is right up my alley. Our viewpoints on things like land and writing and the West run in a similar vein, and due to the wonders of the internet, he discovered my blog and I his back when I was a Durangotan (thanks, Robin, for that particular appellation!). And here we are today, and I am so excited to join in with another chorus of interested voices.

My philosophy about preserving Western lands and ideologies (only the good ones, natch!) from certain depredations (say, modern miner 49ers, oil seekers, big fat greedy developers--you know, the usual careless suspects) is that communication is part of the key. Getting the word out there is essential. And even if just one person gets fired up enough, in love with these areas enough, to make a small change, then that is good enough for me.

Okay, and it's just fun in general to be part of a community, no? So check it out, and check out Ken's blog too.

I should note that I just added both of Ken's links on here (look to your right somewhere), and I also cleaned up a lot of my old writing links. This blog has evolved, for me, into a much more Utah-, West-, personal thoughts-focused type of place. I created a professional blog for EditWorks, which is how I'm trying to mostly earn my bread & butter, and to which I moved many of the writing links I'd had here.

Here's to writing, community, and the endless world of our thoughts and actions. May they intertwine peacefully....

San Juan Almanac

updates, updates

Some new (rather belatedly passed on by me) news about Utah's wildlands: positive advances for the Washington County Growth and Conservation Act, referred to as the Omnibus Public Land Management Act of 2009 (no sense in making things short and easy to say, now is there? Be warned that this doc includes all sorts of tidbits about land management throughout the entire country. It weighs in at a meager 1,294 pages. Ahem.) Washington County is south of Wayne County and includes the utterly sublime Zion National Park. There's more here on Senator Bob Bennett's site. And here's a pdf document in a Q&A format about the bill, which provides more illumination about the thoughts behind it and how bills like this one can help protect land.

Washington County is also home to St. George, one of Utah's bigger cities. Visitors to Zion very often fly in to Las Vegas, drive to St. George and stock up on supplies, then take an easy jaunt over the Zion to ooh and aah. Zion has a very high visitation and name recognition, as opposed to a place like Capitol Reef, which is smaller and off the beaten path and not well-known. Does this make a difference in protection? Possibly. I don't have any stats on that theory, although of course now I'm going to look into it. But the generally accepted precepts of capitalism (pay attention to where the moolah is made) tell me, sure, yeah, totally possible. Interesting...

Here's a little update on Tim DeChristopher, the activist who threw a gorgeously Abbey-style monkeywrench into the land lease sale last month in SLC. Should the big enviros be doing more to support this guy? Would you? Good questions. As a knee-jerk reaction, I'd be inclined to support him. After all, he was trying to do the same thing I advocate: preserve our Utah wildlands. But does that mean I condone his actions, which are possibly punishable by law? How far do we go to make ourselves heard, to clearly state our opinions and passionate beliefs in this world that often seems dominated by the powerful, greedy, moneyed few?

How far would you go to save something you loved?

Shiver. This is the sort of question that makes me ponder my own boundaries. Really, how far am I willing to go to put my money where my mouth is?

updates, updates

continuing the conversation

I just saw this post and find it really interesting. A way to comment on specific parts of blog posts might be much more helpful...much more interesting...and indeed engender more conversation.

Encouraging more conversation--real conversation, thoughtful and hopefully insightful, rather than the blatherers that just blather--is something I will always champion. Talking to one another is the only way we can continue to grow and evolve and increase compassion, which we desperately need on this planet.

We have evolved from the fears about online communities detracting from the ways in which people truly connect. Sure, emails might be less poignant than, say, a long and chatty letter to a friend. Twitter might have taken over quick communication and be contributing to the dumbing-down of language.

But I argue that the Internet has provided an outlet for so many who may not communicate as deeply otherwise. Those who are shy, paranoid, quiet, awkward in person but eloquent on the page, might all benefit from being able to "talk" in the virtual world. We all want a voice, to be heard, to be listened to, to be acknowledged as existing and as being of value. Sometimes, expressing one's soul can happen through a medium as everyday and as mundane and as astonishing as the Internet.

Quote from Mary Oliver (love her work):

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

continuing the conversation

Happy 2009!

I wish for you multitudes of blessings, wild abundance, joyful abandon, extravagant expansiveness, and the courage to reach for your wildest, most heartfelt dreams.

Happy New Year!

Happy 2009!

2008 in images

Some memories from 2008:



(A rainbow in Color Country.)





(Wandering in Upper Box Death Hollow with Ellen and Pippin.)





(Burro Wash slot canyon hike.)





(Capitol Reef National Park covered in snow.)





(Ancient Fremont petroglyh in Pleasant Creek Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.)







(Me and Two-Bit on Boulder Mountain, with Thousand Lake Mountain behind us.)





(Thanks to Dan C. for this one, taken of the monks at Hell's Backbone in Boulder, Utah.)





(Pippin meditating by the Fremont River.)



There are of course a million more images and memories I have of 2008...but these will have to do for now.

Happy New Year's Eve. Here's to remembering the old and yet also making way for the new (hopefully improved?) ahead of us.

2008 in images