Last of the Peaches: Part 1

Life has been busy. I did many things during this busy time. The following is the first in a four part series explicating on these goings-ons.

Part 1: Last Day at the Park

This past summer, I was re-ordained in the glorious order of the Park Ranger. Ever since I first set foot in Capitol Reef National Park, I knew THIS was the PLACE. The place of many things, including the place of my heart and mind. It also helps that I met Hau in this very place. We eventually bought a house nearby and now we continuously struggle to make ends meet while also continuing to find solace, satisfaction and love in this landscape. After a one year hiatus from the National Park Service, during which I traipsed the area as a wilderness field guide for this company, I returned to my coveted position as Park Ranger, this time for my first season at Capitol Reef. This position is seasonal. I started in March. My last day at work was September 11th. Yes, I realize that Park Ranger is not a proper noun, and no, I will not stop capitalizing it. Anyway, so there, the stage is set. The following is one day spent in this country...

Wake up time. Sunrise is happening later and later these days. There is a special feeling to waking on a warm late summer's morn to dim light. The odd seeming amount of darkness is a foreshadowing of things to come. Hau set a rule that I would not hit the snooze button on alarms more than once. I work hard towards that goal. We are going to ride into work together, so we wake up together - a rare occasion.

I get dressed. Hau clips nails. Jackson turns on his demon eyes.

The daily braiding of the dreadlocks. Notice the orange glow of the sunrise coming through the shower curtain on the far right.

Mornings are rushed. I've recently given up on the idea of breakfast being the most important meal of the day. Breakfast can easily soak up half the day at our house. We will continue to have breakfasts on days off, but nowadays, a glass of water, or perhaps a quick substitute will suffice.

Cliff bar. Breakfast of lazy hippies. Eaten in the car.

And then, we're off! The cats meow a few times (if you've ever been here, you realize this is a euphemism for a ridiculous amount of meowing). We close the door to the porch. We get in the vehicle and start on our way.

A beautiful clear morning on Center Street. The early sun casts deep shadows.

A few minutes later, we descend the hill down into the park. There are rocks that are red.

After being dropped off at the visitor center, I walk into the back and take a look at my desk. It is still stacked with papers and books from the season. I have as yet made no effort to actually clear it off. And I won't until quitting time. I go about my day, answering visitor questions, directing phone calls, talking about hikes and geology. I talk way more at work than I ever would otherwise. Sometimes I feel like being at work is having my mouth open and a constant stream of words are coming out. September is the busiest month at the park, which means a lot of words exchanged in any given day. That includes a person's last day.

A couple coworkers standing at one of my centers of the universe: the information desk at the Capitol Reef visitor center. This is where a vast majority of the words I speak are emitted.

Later on, I gathered materials for my program of the day, which happened to be an atlatl demonstration. The atlatl is an ancient hunting tool that predates the bow and arrow. It appeared in many forms across the world and was likely called many different things by the peoples that used (and some still use) it. I am amused by the fact that leads to us referring to it as the atlatl and not by some other name. Atlatl is what the Aztecs called the tool. When the Spanish came to the New World, they encountered the Aztecs and many other peoples who did not have the metal technologies they possessed. So, for the most part, when the Spanish, and later other Anglo-Europeans, decided they'd best work on exterminating these natives there wasn't much contest. The atlatl, however, was such a powerful tool, a skilled person could throw a dart (a long arrow) with force enough to pierce the Spanish armor and relieve the person beneath of a need to continue fighting. Thus, the Spanish became quite familiar with this tool and brought story of it back to Europe. Thus, the word in modern useage used to refer to this throwing stick is "atlatl." Aside from defense, native peoples all around also used atlatls to hunt. The Fremont people of this area were almost certainly not an exception to this, and so atlatls are a relevant part of the prehistory of the park, as we understand it. So, here it is, 2010, and an enthusiastic Park Ranger targets a cardboard Bighorn Sheep with an atlatl to educate visitors.

I show a group how to hold the dart and the atlatl to hit a target 150 feet away. Sometimes my throws actually get close to the target.

During my two hour demonstration, there is a lull in the crowd. I am left alone with the picnic area and the cottonwood trees and red cliffs that surround. I sat at the picnic table for a while, looking around and taking it all in. Then, I spot it, one of many inevitable signs of the end of summer.

Do you see them? A patch of yellow leaves in the foliage of a cottonwood tree. Red cliffs, unchanged.

I return to the office and spend the last part of the day furiously trying to finish projects and leave notes as to their status. I had many goals for this season, some of which I accomplished, some of which will have to wait until next year. I love this place and part of me is sad to leave. However, being relieved of work for the time being leads to many extraordinary opportunities (see parts 2-4, coming soon). I will return next summer.

And, as recompense for my blogging laxity, here is a video of a cute kitty (TC) being petted.

TC loves his sunny porch box of recyclable paper.

Next up: Last of the Peaches: Part 2 - Nothing Everything Day