Last of the Peaches - Part 2

Thus far, I've lived a life of contrasts. There is the bombardment of city contrasted with the fluid freedom of nature. There are cats and there are dogs. East and West. Vegetarian and carnivore. Time of obligations versus open time. I won't be able to say the causal relationship (do I have the life I have because of the way my mind is organized, or vice versa?), but I also tend to think in dualities. I tend to think in terms of things always balancing out, eventually. For every cat, there IS a dog. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. There are nodes of joy and nodes of sorrow. We are all just riding a huge swinging ball at the end of a string. Though sometimes I find myself aware of being at the extreme end of the pendulum's swing.

Anyway, of late, I experienced the boundary zone of a real contrast to life as a Park Ranger. The season's end. There is season, then there is off-season. What does one do with the off-season? That is a question I am often asked by curious visitors to the park, and also by many friends whose lives are the yin to my yang. It is a question without a consistent answer, so when pressed, I usually fabricate something.

Firstly, the evening after the last day of work is kind of like the Friday night going into a long weekend. I just want to eat, drink and be merry. But the drive to do those things is somewhat tempered by the obligation, the time limit of a weekend. Ending the season is like stepping off the regular rhythm and a new one must be established. Things are generally the same, but they feel different. Here is one such day.

Part 2: Nothing Everything Day

Wake up.
Mild bouts of insomnia, for me, rear themselves in the form of extremely early rising rather than not being able to fall asleep. I roll over and the clock says 5:30am. I went to bed at 1am. What? Oh, well, I guess I'm awake and I could get up. So I do.

I know Ed Abbey, the Pope and probably my mom would be somewhat disappointed by what I normally do with the first energies of my day. I have to say my computer useage is a bit out of hand these days, but damn it, I like it! And I just really discovered this whole world of blogs and so I like to look at them. This blog, of course is a method of turning that compulsion into a creative outlet and practice. And you know what? There is a lot one can get done by just staring at screens these days. So, HA! Take that, Pope.

Early morning light reaches the windows a couple hours after I wake up. I am DOING stuff! I am applying to jobs, writing emails, and generally feeling accomplished. All while sitting comfortably in the living room. Fancy that.

In addition to accomplishing important business, I also read my cousin's blog. She is an artist and makes a weekly web comic HERE, in addition to doing some self-motivation type stuff. I am way inspired by her work. I also use it as a tool to explain to Hau about how my sense of humor works. Yay!

I also put effort towards staying hydrated. My goal is to drink an average of 2 quarts of water a day. I keep a variety of water vessels at hand to work towards this goal. This is a desert, after all.

Eventually, Hau awakes and joins me (~10am). Now we have a computer lab.

If I am still on the computer when Hau wakes up, I generally take it as a sign of it being time to do something else. So I close the laptop. I stand up. I walk over to the window and look out. I follow the cats around a while.

Jackson, sometimes referred to as "the long kitty," pauses to stretch by the litter box as I follow him around the house. We have conversations in his language. Although I don't know what the words mean, it is riveting.

After a while, Hau and I decide this beautiful clear morning should be, at least, partially spent outside. So, we decide to go on a walk. There are some lovely destinations pretty close by. We've been talking about this whole marriage thing, so we decide we'll take a walk over to the spot we hope to have the ceremony, a place called "The Lion's Head." I've spent a lot of time over the years at The Lion's Head, watching clouds form and taking naps in pockets of sandstone. It is a great morning for a walk.

Hau left, me right.

We make our way home. Then I walk around the yard for a while. There are lots of things going on in the yard. I looked at many of them.

There's the big pit our neighbor's son dug in our yard with his backhoe. Then we pit roasted three goats in there and had a big party. That was fun.

This a baby gourd of the variety, "Autumn Wings." I have them growing over by one of our yearling trees. Hau and I had a lot of discussions about the relative merits of growing non-edibles. I just have a thing for decorative squashes. Whenever I see a decorative squash, I just think it is the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Then I took a look at the garden and thought to myself, "this garden really needs some harvest action." So, I took it upon myself, after raising them from seeds, to reap some of these beauties out of the ground. I harvested some kale, sunflower heads, kohlrabi, peas and a few other odds and ends.

I marveled at the largeness of the sunflower heads. Then I chopped them down and cut off their heads with a green river knife.


Peas in a pod turn into peas in a bowl.

There are some nice horsies in the field across the street, so I feed them some yard apples.

I take a break to watch an episode of Star Trek (the original series is available for free on the internet!). Spock is and always will be my favorite.

But Sulu is a close second.

After that entertaining respite, I decide I'd best work on the garden a bit more. Cooler temperatures will be here soon. I stumble outside, sandals half on. I feel a slight sensation in the arch of my right foot. Thinking it must just be a pricker from some invasive weed (see blog entry about massive thistles), I jiggle the sandal on my foot thinking the pricker will just roll out. But then it wasn't just a pricker. It was a bee! And so, I received the third bee sting ever in my life. Man, those things are extremely painful. I spent a few minutes wondering if perhaps I acquired an allergy to bee stings as an adult, like I did to avocados. But, no allergy. Just a really freaking itchy and slightly painful thing on the bottom of my foot. I sat on the bathroom floor for a few minutes, icing the sting. Jackson came to visit while I sat there.

Jackson Jefferson Djebooboola: Kitty First Responder. He responds to all medical emergencies the same way. He comes over, aggressively demands attention, and purrs. And it always works!

So, after a little while, I decide I'm fine enough to go tackle extricating some kohlrabi from the garden. "Kohlrabi" is German for cabbage turnip. I can't think of a better way to describe this vegetable, except for maybe "many tendrilled weird looking space alien above the ground bulge in the stem." But that would not fit printed nicely onto seed packets. So, there you have it.

The largest kohlrabi extracted from the garden. Twas rather large.

Things kind of went on this way for a while. I went inside and drank some water every now and then. I put vegetables into bags. I pet some cats. Then, at about 5:50pm, Hau and I left for Boulder Town, where we planned to meet some friends from Bryce at the Hell's Backbone Grill for dinner.

It was great to see these folks again. Some are rangers I worked with at Bryce Canyon National Park a few years ago, others are people I just met, but good fun, good food.

So, there you have it. A day without direction actually turns into quite an eventful day. There were ups and downs and all-arounds. The transition period continues, however. Fall is on it's way. My next step is to visit a friend in Salt Lake City. Funny how one goes to the city to visit a farm.

Next Up:
Last of the Peaches - Part 3: Eating and Farming in the great Salt Lake City

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

Death of a Giant

Early this spring, a giant began growing among us. As most things that will one day be giant do, it started out small. In the unlikely bed of our front yard flower garden, a spiky and unpleasant being slowly emerged near a yearling apple tree.

Since I don't generally run around taking pictures of all the varieties of volunteers that happen to grow in our yard - and since this one did not at first appear to be something of note- I don't have any baby pictures for the giant. A cursory google image search rendered this substitute:

Nothing out of the ordinary here. It's a weed. There are hundreds (thousands) of them. We shake our fists (and pull them) to no avail. We are used to this.

Immediately, due to Hau's long standing lust for invasive weed destruction, we identified this as a thistle. Utah has a few native thistle species. Not wanting to possibly remove a native, we decided to let it be. Positive identification would be easier once the plant matured a bit. If it turned out to be exotic, we would pull this beastie on one of the regular sunny afternoons often consumed by the meditative practice of controlling kochia and "red root" our usual garden weeds.

Kochia is planted by ranchers who buy seeds from local hardware and feed stores to vegetate their pasture. Therefore, pulling this is like Sisyphus pushing the boulder.

This is only one of many annoying parts of this plant. We've never positively identified it, but I heard a rumor that locals call this 'red root.' This one also induces a mythological lifestyle.

So we went along with life. Day to day, we went to work, ate some food, pet some cats. And every day, the baby thistle grew...


and grew...



AND grew....................





Until, it became apparent that the baby thistle would one day consume us all, unless we did something, and quick. I once again have no pictures of what I will call the 'Fear' stage.

The Fear stage was the stage during which the giant thistle wielded it's powers over us. I would gaze at it for hours out the kitchen window, hypnotized by it's evil demonstration of infinite fractal growth patters. Occasionally, I would shake off the spell and pester Hau as to why we have not yet vanquished this foe. He would laugh and say how truly amazing a specimen this plant was. How could we destroy such a splendor of nature? Although he was right, sleep became less easy. Front yard time was spent, more and more, looking over the shoulder while toiling away in the shadow of the giant. The thistle was pitting our philosophical commitment to native species against our straight up respect for something so bold as to grow taller than us. In the chaos of this stage, I failed, once more, to photographically capture this event. The thistle eminated a mind-controlling force-field that rendered both logical capacity and recording devices useless.

Then, one early morning, one of our housemates was outside. A neighbor came by and asked if Hau was home. When she said no, the neighbor asked if she would make sure to pass on the message that we were growing a noxious weed. A noxious weed!

A few more days passed. We gazed upon the splendor of the giant. I imagined a forest of these, taking over our front yard, seeds afloat on the wind, spreading, spreading, blocking out the sun.

And finally, one day, Hau took the shovel and speared off it's poor giant life.

Note the leather gloves to protect Hau's hands during the heat of battle.

We marvel at the hugeness of our worthy foe.

Now that the Fear stage has passed, we can fall back on the more academic aspects of having had the giant in our lives. Our research in the ever useful book, Weeds of the West, leads us to believe this was a Scotch Thistle, Onopordum acanthium. One of the alternate common names for this plant is 'heraldic thistle.' I can only assume this name is derived from the fact that the presence of this plant in your yard will herald in the dawn of a new era - one ruled by super-large thistles.

Weeds of the West states this plant can grow "up to 12 feet tall" and "is an aggressive plant [that] may form stands so dense that they are impenetrable to livestock." Yikes! And let me tell you, livestock is known to penetrate quite a lot. I've seen cow patties in some unlikely places.

Also of interest is the fact that the thistle is the national emblem of my ancestors' (I think) home country, Scotland.

According to a Scottish History Website, "The prickly purple thistle was adopted as the Emblem of Scotland during the rein of Alexander III (1249 -1286). Legend has it that an Army of King Haakon of Norway, intent on conquering the Scots landed at the Coast of Largs at night to surprise the sleeping Scottish Clansmen. In order to move more stealthily under the cover of darkness the Norsemen removed their footwear.

As they drew near to the Scots it wasn't the only thing hiding under the cover of darkness. For one of Haakon's men unfortunately stood on one of these spiny little defenders and shrieked out in pain, alerting the Clansmen of the advancing Norsemen. Needless to say the Scots who won the day."

So, apparently, this is not the only time this massive plant has altered the course of history. Perhaps, the reason we were graced with a visit from this stately plant was that she and I hail from the same land. It could even be that I have her ancestor to thank for the fact that I exist! When we go to Scotland later this year, I will keep my eye out for the giant's brethren in their native environment and pay homage.

In conclusion, I am left feeling conflicted about destroying a compatriot that could have made our yard impenetrable to livestock.

Now, only one question remains: where is the mother-plant?

The Dark Mower

It is 10:20 at night, Pioneer Day Eve. If you don't know what Pioneer Day is, it will be obvious to everyone around you that you have never been to Utah. So you should quick look it up on the internet. Unless, of course, all the people around you have also never been to Utah. In which case, I hope you come visit me sometime. In which case, it might be good to be informed.

Anyway, it's 10:20 at night, Pioneer Day Eve and this guy down the street is mowing his lawn, or something. All I know is there is a lawn mower sounding engine noise that seems oddly out of place after dark on a dead end street in a town of less than 200 people.

????????

My upstairs housemate has also been noticing this phenomenon. We startled each other a few minutes ago in the dark kitchen and then proceeded to have a conversation about what kind of business this sound has emanating into the night, into our precious quiet. The best we can figure is it has something to do with Pioneer Day. Maybe this person finds it very important to have a well manicured lawn on the dawn of the special day, which is why this chore could not wait until tomorrow morning to be completed. Unfortunately, this seems like a reasonable explanation to both of us.

One more thing - when one gazes out the door and looks down the road toward this noise, one will notice that there is also an ATV involved. Our explanation there is that the lawn mower needs light to see, and what better light out there than the headlights of a strategically placed ATV? Certainly better than the sun.

Kinda like a bucket of snakes.

Last fall, I was talking to a friend about planting garlic. She was describing all the finer points of when to plant, when to water, etc. Then she mentioned this thing called scapes. Life has never been the same.

SCAPES

I obtained some very nice planting garlic heads from this same friend, who got it from a nice garlic farmer boy in Northern Utah. I planted them in October, mulched the crap out of them, and pretty much just hoped for the best. This winter was long and hard. There was lots of snow, followed by lots of mud. There was also lots of sub-freezing temperatures and high winds. It is very windy here. Like 60mph. All day.

Sometimes I would stand at my front window and look out at the garlic beds I planted, wondering if those little garlic embryos were still alive out there. I fought back the desire to go dig one up to see what was going on in there.

Sure enough, in early spring, little green shoots emerged. The miracle of life! The following picture was taken in mid-April.

Observe how droplets of water cling delicately to this darling garlic shoot. It inspires humanity by reaching up to the sky!

After a while, other leaves even formed. Meanwhile, the rest of the garden struggled with the long cold spring. Even peas and spinach were moody.

Then, June came along. I knew that this season of scapes was apparently nigh. I waited. I watched. I continuously checked the crevices of the garlic plants for some alien looking things. Then, they appeared; green snakes winding out of the top of the garlic plant like someone was sitting there playing a flute. They jutted out of the top of the foliage then twisted around into loops. I took scissors outside and snipped a few off. I explored some alternative uses:

Edible fashion: The only kind of fashion worth having

Cat Plaything

And yes, they are tasty - kind of like a garlic flavored green onion. Just don't eat the flower part.

Now, all scapes are removed from my roughly 50 garlic plants. The leaves of the plants are now supposed to start browning, which is indeed happening. Next step: garlic harvest! *anticipates*

What time?

Today, I went to work even though I didn't want to.
I cried by myself in my bedroom.
Then I talked to a friend and cried some more while trying to choke down a smoothie.
I sat in bed.
I went to work.
I was utterly distracted in the head.
Then I gave a great evening program while being audited.
My striped kitty is purring and fixing to curl up next to me.
I will get up and turn of the garden sprinklers.
Then go to bed.
It is way pass my bed time.

Struggles of a tech saavy Luddite

I debated this for a long time.

It is true to say that I often feel uncomfortable when I hear the word 'blogosphere.' I like to think I live in a world of rocks and trees and kittens. You know, things you can touch, taste, see, etc. I work hard to make my living doing things that keep me closely connected with the 'real' reality. Was it Edward Abbey who first called it that? No, I think it was MacPhee. Something about how our houses, cities, grocery stores are what make up the human constructed world. Nature is the real world - the world that exists whether we want it to or not. I try to be real. That means a lot to me. I feel ill if I can't spend a lot of time outdoors, interacting with reality.

But I'm pretty good at technological things, if I do say so myself. I was a computer technician in college. I almost started a career as an astronomer, working in front of computers all day and night. In fact it was my experience as a lab aid to an astronomer that made me realize I needed to be in the out of doors. Many hours spent in front of a computer was not good for me.

There are also the social implications. That little voice deep down in me says its no good how glued to computers we are. Bloggers always seemed kind of self-important to me. Recently, though, I find myself reading blogs and really enjoying them.

Also recently, I find myself struggling to follow through on things I really want to do. In third grade I discovered a talent for writing. Mrs. James and Mrs. Carlson (my 3rd and 5th grade teachers) gave me a lot of praise, saying things like how when I become a famous writer I better not use a nom de plume. Then in college, I took a fiction writing workshop course. I would get comments like, "I think you're one of the few in here that would actually make it as a writer." That made me feel good. Like I have an innate talent at something. But I just haven't kept it up. I've kept a journal for most of my life, but in recent years, I just can't seem to bring myself to bring pen to paper. Every day I have ideas about what I could put into writing, but I don't do it. I am just having a harder and harder time actually taking my thoughts and feelings and creating interesting prose. Journaling has lost its luster. Most of the entries I made in the last year are boring and repetitive.

So, here's an idea. Blogs are like online journals where you can write about life or post short stories. People might read it and make comments. That's kind of cool! Maybe it is a way I can jump start this. I don't know, but I'm going to try.