The Road to 65, Mile 205: Father’s Day

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 3, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Personal goals, Travel

June 21, 2015, Monroe, WA- I woke , to a bit late today, around 7:15, to speak with my son on this Hallmark morning. It’s always good to hear his voice, contrived occasion or not. I was in the suburban clime of Mount Vernon, had been wished “Happy Father’s Day” by the waitress at Farm House Restaurant, in this city’s La Conner neighbourhood, after getting off the ferry last night, and got a somewhat more subdued greeting from the server at Riverside Cafe, near the motel, during breakfast this morning. Racial politics, Hispanic vs. Anglo, seems to be playing out a bit in this community, which is always a hard thing. I was given my breakfast, and two cups of coffee, then expected to leave. Riverside will not see me again., though Farm House would be a pleasure.

I was in a funk, not knowing which direction to head, yet after reclaiming some items I had left at Holiday Motel, the day before, and enjoying some coffee and a treat at Johnny Picasso’s, in Anacortes, I had an idea. Heading to Arlington, and Oso, the site of a horrible mudslide in March, 2014, I took some time for prayer towards racial healing, as several people back in Arizona were gathering to pray for the same, with the Charleston Massacre as their focal point. There is no one group that does not need a healing balm.

The message was clearer to me after that, and I drove east on Highway 2, finding the small town of Monroe to be a good place to rest. The Monroe Motel lies alongside Woods Creek, so there was no finer place for me to observe today, thinking of fatherhood-how it affected me as a son, as a son-in-law, as a spouse and as a parent.

I was not an easy son. My happy-go-lucky, but hard-working father did not know what to make of me, half the time. I did not know what to make of me, half the time. I wonder if he knew how much he was loved, back then. He knows now.

My role with my father-in-law was part good-natured foil for his jokes, and part guarantor of his family line’s continuing on in safety. We gave him his only grandson, and that guaranteed my safety. He knows now, how important it was to me that Aram actively knew his grandfather. Both of mine were dead before I emerged from toddlerhood.

Penny and I were close to nature, as individuals and as a pair. She would sometimes, in the throes of her progressive decline, say that she felt she was in my way. In truth, she WAS my way. She knows that now.

I have gone through a fair number of personal struggles, in my late teens, in my twenties, and in the buffeting called my fifties. Somehow, I have emerged. Fatherhood happened for me, in the best way I knew at the time. There was a lot more I could have provided, for my son’s stability. I realize that now.

He’s okay, thanks to the discipline of the Navy, and his grandfather’s guiding hands of steel and velvet. I am here for him, and can finally show a solid example of how to move through life, come hell or high water. Aram knows that now.

I went into this lovely, if cavernous, establishment in downtown Monroe. A Caesar salad, meat lasagna and a bowl of spumoni were my Father’s Day meal. Half the lasagna was saved for tomorrow, and my drive to Wenatchee, where I will reconnect with friends from three years ago.

I end this with Monroe’s comment on the whole race issue.

My spirit guides are with me, still.

The Road to 65, Mile 215: Challenges/Opportunities

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 2, 2015 in Personal goals

July 1, 2015, Prescott- As is always the case when I return from a wandering, there were lots of base camp tasks in front of me. Not the least of these was tracking down my pile of mail, so as to get two pay checks deposited and thus stave off NSF. I have had a good track record, since recovering from the Great Recession, and aim to keep it that way.

Finance has neither been my strong suit, nor has it been an Achilles heel. The best way, for me, to go about life is with cash and check. Work will be quite constant this coming academic year, and that’s a great thing.

My yard project was pretty much done for me, by the landlord himself, while I was away. He is a trouper: That work was done during the period that Prescott, and much of the continent, endured 100+ ,for nearly three weeks. I will keep at the process of building raised beds, so that next year, seeds may be planted. At least the onion bulbs will go in shortly, and we’ll see how they do.

July will be prime time for volunteering, I can sense, so I will show up at things like the Fourth of July Parade, and the Red Cross float, the Hope Fest kickoff event on July 18, and whatever things Slow Food and Yavapai County Angels have going. Then, too, there would be any disasters that happen, but we will let sleeping dogs lie, for now.

The travels? Yes, I have gotten to be the Poster Child for wanderlust. As another friend recently remarked, this seems to be a Sagittarrian thing. This Sagittarian will be more inclined to short, focused bursts, for the next five years at least. There may be a faith-based trip down to Chile, late in 2016, but my primary focus is on family and friends: My son, and a couple of good friends, in southern California; my paternal uncle, in Colorado; my soon-to-be hexagenarian brother, in Atlanta; and the bulk of my biological family, at Christmas-time, in New England. I want to do more day trips from here, that could draw in a good friend. Finally, there are my long-neglected Native American friends in northeast Arizona, and at least one weekend in early August will see me up there.

This day finds me in a very relaxed frame of mind, ready for whatever life sends. It’s just too hot and languid to be otherwise.

The Road to 65, Mile 204: A Potlatch and A Walking Tour

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 2, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 20, 2015, Victoria- I hit the ground running this morning, though it’d have been easy to laze the day away in Anacortes. A three-hour ride across the straits lay Sidney, BC, a harbour town northeast of Victoria. British Columbia’s capital was participating fully in Canada’s National Aboriginal Day. While this was officially on Sunday, the festivities were going on all weekend, on the grounds of the Royal British Columbia Museum, a magnificent facility, which would have taken up the entire weekend, in and of itself.

I zipped to the ferry station, west of Anacortes, and parked carefully in the day lot, as I would be returning at night.The wharfside featured some competitors for breakfast.

The cormorants far outnumbered the lone gull, however, so he followed us into the water for a while. Our first stop was Friday Harbor, a delightful little town I might like to explore further, some day.

The same is true of Sidney, the small port where we landed. A gruff Customs Officer gave me the third degree, then sent me happily along, to the port’s charming downtown.

My first act was to check Eastview Park, and its sculptures.

The artwork continued, downtown.

I spent about 20 minutes and C$ 10, at Haunted Bookshop, said to be Vancouver Island’s oldest.

The proprietor was kind enough to give me change for the bus to Victoria. I took a double decker, going to the top tier, and engaging in conversation with a Korean student, resident in Vancouver, who was also here on holiday. He was primarily interested in shopping, and in going to Butchart Gardens, which I had already consigned to a future visit. They are another site that is worth a full day, in and of themselves.

Upon arriving at the potlatch site, I took several minutes to wander among the totem poles of the Royal Museum grounds.

I also took in the Helmcken House, home to Dr. John Helmcken and his family, in the late 19th Century. Dr. Helmcken persuaded fellow British Columbians to join the Dominion of Canada.

This carillon, on the north side of the museum grounds, adds a more contemporary touch to the mix.

Once into the Potlatch area, we were set straight as to where we were. The Songhees and Esquimault (Es-KWY-mawl) are working commonly, to preserve Aboriginal fishing rights and guard the health of the waterways.

I was taught, from an early age, that listening and observing were especially important, when in the presence of Native elders. Of course, these skills certainly lend themselves well to getting along in ANY company. I watch a seal-hunting dance, by some of the Songhees people, after having enjoyed a bowl of Vancouver Island-stye clam chowder and fry bread, an Aboriginal staple, across the continent.

While waiting for the walking tour guide, I took in the British Columbia Parliament Building and the Empress Hotel, diagonal from Parliament. The neo-Baroque British Columbia Parliament Buildings were completed by Francis Rattenbury, in 1898.

The Fairmont Empress Hotel, completed in 1908, was the western showpiece of the Canadian Pacific Railroad’s hotel line. It certainly competes with the grand hotels of Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver, in terms of ornateness.

I’m sure Queen Victoria would have approved of the city named in her honour.

Our walking tour started, just after I had paid homage to the Queen. We began at the old harbour, which guide Mark Albany, of the Songhees Nation, explained was traditional Aboriginal fishing ground, though the harbour was largely filled in by the British, for the sake of commerce. It is about half the size of its pre-British days.

Mark was an incisive, fast-moving human encyclopedia.

Human hand and arm sculptures appear at five points, in downtown Victoria. They honour the industry of all workers, who built the city, into a vibrant port.

These Romanesque supports for the downtown evoked Rouen and Vannes, France, for me.

Aboriginal kitchen middens have been preserved, at the water’s edge, by the City Council, as an archaeological zone.

Mark took us in and around the remnants of the Bastion, the original British seaside fortress, meant to defend against the Spanish and Russians, as well as against any Aboriginals who might have had depredatory intentions.

As you might guess, part of this building is now used as a wine cellar.

We looked around the old commercial district, where Mark noted the contrast between the British division of property into parcels, and the Aboriginal notion of land being for common use.

The original cobbles of Victoria’s streets were built of Douglas fir.

As this was soon found to be an unwieldy practice, the British turned to stone and pressed glass pavers for their streets.

I had to bid farewell to Mark,the group (who were mostly Victoria residents, just learning about their city from a First Nations perspective) and to fair Victoria. As the ferry back to Anacortes passed into the strait, a pair of orcas were engaged in feeding.

It wasn’t quite sunset, but the red sails were out.

The trimast also was out, seeking cetaceans for the evening.

I was favourably impressed with Victoria, and will set aside more time, strictly for Vancouver Island, on some future jaunt. For now, though, thought must be given to other areas of the Northwest, before I head southward to my base.

The Road to 65, Mile 214: The Black Tiles

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 1, 2015 in Personal goals, Social

June 30, 2015, Prescott- This is where I resume the practice of writing two posts a day. Morning will feature a reminiscence of the day just prior. Evening will bring a post related to a just-completed journey to the Pacific Northwest and southeast Alaska. Thus, you will not a juxtaposition in the “Miles” referenced.

On June 30, 2013, I was returning from a visit to the Navajo community of Dinebito and the Hopi village of Polacca. Whilst driving through Leupp, on the way back, a bulletin came on KNAU. 19 wildland fire fighters had been killed in a windblown firestorm, at Yarnell, west of Prescott. The team had been based in Prescott itself. The communities of Yarnell and Peeples Valley had been evacuated, thus giving me an exact message as to what had to be done next. I went directly to the Red Cross shelter, at Yavapai College, and served, as needed, there for the next four days, while working around a family event in San Diego.

All of that is now a blur, but the suffering of the “Hot Shot’s” families, ever since, is all too real. Their day-to-day recovery has been undermined by the crusty attitude of many here in the area- “The men knew what they were getting into, when they signed on. Don’t give the survivors a dime more than they’re due already.” Fortunately, enough of us Prescottonians can look beyond that benighted view of life, so that the surviving families have prevailed, in the courts and in every day life. A foundation has been established, to handle the most pressing long-term needs.

There is a tradition, in the firehouse, that a rookie does not step on the set of black tiles that lines the middle of the floor, until he or she has been through a major blaze. The tiles in Station 17, where the Hot Shots were housed, are now enshrined. No one steps on them.

This leads me to thinking. Years ago, my father-in-law took me aside and said, “You have had some fine experiences as a couple, already. You have not, though,as yet, been through more than a minor bump or two. That was in 1985. Since then, everyone who knows me, has witnessed the real rough patches. The years from 2003-2011 were enough for any person’s life education. I have stepped on the black tiles of my own life house. It is a humbling place, and not often a lonely one- thanks to those who have stayed as true friends.

As I stood this afternoon, on the Court House lawn, listening to the Fire Marshall offer words of respect for the fallen, the thought came that, while there is no guarantee that a fresh calamity won’t come our way, tomorrow, the sense of community that transcends even the differences of opinion,which sometime threaten to tear us asunder, will be what lifts us in a healing and forward-moving direction. Yes, love is the secret.

The Road to 65, Mile 203: Evergreen Crossings, Day 1: Anacortes

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 1, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 19, 2015, Anacortes- The ferry brought me in to Bellingham, right on schedule. Taking my sick camera to a Best Buy, in nearby Burlington, for shipment off to a fix-it shop, was my first priority. While waiting for the store to open, I got some coffee and a muffin, and saw the horror we had missed, whilst aboard ship: The Charleston Massacre. I was numb, for a few minutes, then throw-the-book-at-him angry, that this should continue to happen, in the middle of 2015- the midmost heart of the second decade of the 21st Century. Thought then took over- I had just been in a fairly isolated environment, with little interaction with anyone, for nearly two days. There were, however, people of all “racial” groups aboard, and the crew was well-blended. This reflects the Alaska of 2015, which ought to, in turn, reflect the America of this same year. Yet, hearts don’t change. People hold on to the most quotidian of symbols- a gun, an outmoded flag, as if these guarantee some sort of shield from a malevolent external force. Perhaps, in a way, they do. Does that mean, however, that these symbols may be used as malevolent forces of their own- and against people who have been NOTHING BUT LOVING to the individual who now attacks them?

I had to carry on, though, and did, choosing the comforting and picturesque ferry port of Anacortes, as a place to settle for one day, and just walk about, after a comforting nap at Holiday Motel. It’s run by two of the nicest hoteliers I have encountered in the “lower 48”, though I have to say that, how I perceive people is usually how they end up being.

Anacortes has an old church, which is now for sale. Other denominations seem to be thriving, but not this Congregationalist parish. Perhaps it moved over to the west side of town.

I wandered around the east harbour, where there is a skate park, a yacht club and several container vessels. East Anacortes seems to be the more industrial part of town.

Street art seems to be everywhere, these days, and Anacortes has its fair share. There is a Music Festival coming here soon.

I visited the Performing Arts Center’s grounds, after hours, and was overjoyed to see its name.

The venue is to be very active, tomorrow. I will, however, be in Victoria, BC, for a National Aboriginal Canadians Day festival. Still, this is another very comforting thing about this little port.

Hearts come in all shapes and sizes.

They can also be complex.

I wonder if Juliet, or Rapunzel, would favour such a balcony ?

Perhaps, if her suitor were to proffer such a mix of flowers as this.

Wandering, reluctantly, away from Hearts of Anacortes, I found a gem of a different sort. The city includes a waterfront park, at the north harbour. The wharves are largely given over to disuse, and are therefore welcoming to some cormorants.

Could this pass for a dog, or an alligator? Driftwood does inspire flights of fancy.

Spying a fossil shell was a treat.

It appears Nature has her own pictographs.

There were a few other intrepid souls out, enjoying this special park. It is a good mark for a community, when it takes the best of what is placed in its midst. If I ever felt the need to leave Prescott, for another base, Anacortes would be on my short list.