The Road to Diamond, Day 60: Floating and Weaving

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January 27, 2025, Hong Kong– When I was a teen, boxers would speak of the technique of bobbing and weaving, as a means of dodging an opponent’s punches and getting in blows of their own. On a long-distance aircraft, the techniques for safely navigating an expanse of ocean, or of continent, or both, require knowing when to move aside an air current and when to “float” through it. The flight crew of our Cathay Pacific craft handled the turbulence over the mid-Pacific very well tonight.

It is the time of Lunar New Year, ringing in the Year of the (Wood) Snake. The holiday in general leads thousands upon thousands of East Asian people to travel to their ancestral homes, and there was quite a multitude in LAX, on our flight and others like it, and in the transit lines at Hong Kong International Airport. We moved, sometimes in flow and at other times haltingly, but there was only a minimal delay in take-offs and in deplaning upon landing. What issues arose were mostly because of scanning issues, with regard to passports and boarding passes, or because people did not understand the concept of facial scanning. It could be construed as a privacy issue, but to me, the government knows what I look like already and I have nothing to hide from any given national authority, so I look straight into the screening device and am waved on my way.

Wedged as I was between two Chinese men, both bigger than I, on the fifteen hour haul from Los Angeles to Hong Kong, it was nonetheless a stress free leg. The three of us had an unspoken agreement that when Window Seat passenger needed to answer nature’s call, we all found our way to the Comfort Room, Aisle Seat passenger going last. There is plenty of leg room and a fairly ergonomic seat construction. Even though we were at the very last row before the galley cabinets, room was still made for us to recline our seats. In fairness to everyone else, who had to bring their seats upright at meal times, we uprighted ours as well. The meals themselves, dinner and breakfast, were fully balanced and appetizing, by airline standards.

I slept for probably 6.4-7 hours, during the flight, availing myself of three films, during the waking portion. “The Wild Robot” explored the notion of adapting Artificial Intelligence to interpreting and communicating with non-human sentient beings. It also considered the adaptation of AI independence from possible future orthodoxy and repression. “Kingdom of Heaven” followed one man’s spiritual progress through the terrifying time of the Second Crusade, and the overarching climate of relative harmony between Christian, Jew and Muslim up until the time that a boorish claque of English and French nobles used the death of the Christian King of Jerusalem and Acre (Akko) as a pretext to seat one of their own on the throne and to wage war against the mighty Saladin. Various documented aspects of the actual Second Crusade, which ended with Saladin’s capture of Jerusalem were incorporated into the film’s narrative, but the story was greatly embellished. “High Noon”, a classic Western of the early 1950s, is a film I had not seen, though I was named for its lead actor, Gary Cooper, and its themes of the nobility of a true hero and the fecklessness of both politicians and the average “get-along” citizen are quite remarkably presented. The film is about 1 hour long,and its plot concerns itself with one hour in the life of a small southern New Mexico town of the 1880s.

So, my time crossing the Pacific was well-spent, and now I ready myself for the final 2-hour flight to Manila. Much will be decided, these next three weeks.

The Road to Diamond, Day 55: Eggs

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January 22, 2025- Whilst shopping for other breakfast items yesterday, at Trader Joe’s, I encountered two store employees explaining to another shopper that they were out of eggs. It seems that the wholesale distributors have put grocery stores and some restaurants in a pool. Every establishment gets an allotment, usually on a daily or semi-weekly basis. TJ’s would have received their allotment this morning, and probably again on Friday.

Like toilet paper before it, the egg has become in short supply due to a virus. This time, it’s avian flu that is the villain. As poultry, and, for the most part, not people, are the direct victims, all we can do is wait. https://www.abc15.com/news/national/america-is-in-the-middle-of-an-egg-shortage-causing-prices-to-rise

I am not an eggs for breakfast, every morning, sort of soul. I like a plate of scrambled eggs, meat and home-fried potatoes, once or twice a week. I like an occasional omelet. Otherwise, I am not an egg aficionado. I do, however, feel for those who can’t be without the food. We are, simply put, reaping the benefits of industrialized agriculture. Viruses and bacteria thrive in environments where animals, (including humans), are crammed too close together; where hygiene is second fiddle to moving product; where hormones and chemicals are administered to the “producers” (hens), to increase output. The same disease risk faces cattle, swine and sheep. Farmed fish have their own hygiene risk factor.

The egg crisis will pass, though it may, like the TP crisis before it, force people to look at alternatives, in the event of a worst case scenario. It is not, on its face, the government’s fault, though pulling out of WHO was probably not a good idea. It is not the fault of the distributors, who are at least for now, trying to be as fair as they can to retailers and to the public. It is not the fault of the retailers, who at least for now, are tempering the law of supply and demand with the need to stay on the good side of their customers.

Let’s see what the large producers can do, on their own, to safeguard their animals-and take the long view of the matter. People will still want eggs for breakfast, 10, 20, 50 years from now. Going back to smaller flocks, with more actual free-roaming space, would seem to be one answer. Removing hormones, chemicals and antibiotics from the regimen is definitely another practice worth considering.

The Road to Diamond, Day 47: Picketpost

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January 14, 2025, Benson, AZ- The old centipede moved haltingly across the floor of my motel room. Whether it was its age, or the cold of the floor that stymied the creature, it was clear that the animal was not robust. I was able to get it into a trash basket, using a sheet of paper as a push vessel. From there, the centipede was placed outside, on some rocks that would warm up shortly thereafter.

I also got myself moving, a short time later, and after a light breakfast next door, at Gypsy Sisters Coffee and Tea House, it was time to head to Picketpost Trailhead, which intersects with the Arizona Trail, some five miles west of Superior. I have long wanted to climb the actual mountain by that name, but have found that the common trail at the south end of the peak is closed, due to a rock slide.

That left the magnificent Arnett Canyon, between the mountain that forms a western boundary for Boyce Thompson Arboretum State Park and Picketpost Mountain’s 9-mile north to south expanse. Arnett is a mecca for wildflower enthusiasts, each Spring. Today, a good 2.5 months before any blooms appear, it was the rock formations, and small gems and minerals that commanded attention.

When I pulled into the parking lot for Picketpost Trailhead, I was pleased to see that three small groups were also preparing to take in the area. I did not want to be strictly alone for the duration of the hike. As it happened, a group of five women were on a search for Apache tears, the obsidian glass-like gems that dot the middle reaches of Arnett Canyon, near some copper mine tailings left by the predecessor of Resolution Copper, which now operates a limited enterprise east and south of Superior. They invited me to join them for a time, and I was thus able to gather nineteen of the droplets, with initial help from one of the women, who is a gemologist.

Some are, of course, shiny whilst others are rough. I may gently buff some of the less attractive stones, and leave others in a rough state.

Here are some scenes of Arnett Canyon and of its two mountain borders.

The Sun’s energy bathed Picketpost Mountain, in mid-morning.
The majestic boundary of Boyce Thompson Arboretum is crowned by sahuaros.

An exploratory cross-section shows the solidity of the sandstone that rises above Arnett Canyon.
Towering sandstone figures leave much to the imagination.
Even in this dry season, water finds a way to make its presence known.
The Telegraph Fire (2021) caused a lot of damage in Arnett and nearby Alamo Canyon. This barrel cactus has stayed alive, while bearing the scars of the blaze.
Wind can whip a fire, and it can also carry the seeds of plants over mountains. These date palms are from wind-blown seeds that came over the barrier mountain, from Boyce Thompson.
Here is a makeshift arch that someone fashioned out of cholla cactus spines.
As I came up a set of stairs, fashioned from stone, more sandstone guardians made themselves known.

Superior stands as yet another hub of wonders that dot the Southwest.

The Road to Diamond, Day 2: Fort Worth

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November 30, 2024, Grapevine- Donnie Wahlberg took our order, at Tokyo Cafe, carefully serving the Miso Soup, Yakisoba, Tokyokonomiyaki (savory, creamy pancake) and eel roll. Of course, it was one of Donnie’s look-alikes. He did a fine job, bringing us our late lunch.

Yesterday was spent on the northern edge of Dallas, so today was Fort Worth’s turn. Our center was Cowtown’s Botanic Garden, a sprawling gem, whose own centerpiece is the Japanese Garden. We were set on wandering mode, starting with Tropical Garden, an indoor setting, given this area’s late Fall temperatures-soon to be followed by a wintry mix. There are both tropical and subtropical flora, including a Philippine banana tree.

Banana tree, found in the Philippines and Malaysian Borneo.

Our meanderings took us past a children’s garden, so we stopped and posed as cookies.

The Gingerbread Trio

Next, was a Kokedama Forest.

Two rows of Kokedama (above and below)

Kokedama is a Japanese botanic art, involving growing plants in a moss-covered ball of soil, contained by a web of string or monofilament fishing line.

Fort Worth has a sister city in Japan: Nagaoka. A symbol of resilience was sent to the Garden, by citizens of Nagaoka. Here is a Mikoshi, topped by the figure of a phoenix.

Most poignant is the Seven Pillars Monument, a tribute to soldiers who served in Viet Nam, in 1967. A lone soldier wrote to the people of Fort Worth, asking that someone acknowledge the sacrifices being waged by his comrades. The community responded with an outpouring of food and personal hygiene supplies. Seven of the soldiers made it home. Five did not. Thus, there are seven standing pillars and five “broken” ones.
The Call for Help, answered by Fort Worth.

This park promises to be a favourite of Aram and Yunhee. I will also want to stop by, when I am out this way next Spring.

Large koi pond, Japanese Garden

The Road to Diamond-Day 1: Cedar Ridge

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November 29, 2024, Grapevine- The three of us stood, overlooking Cattail Pond, as if it were the Pacific Ocean. In Dallas, any body of water will fill that bill. We took this 4-mile loop, after finishing off most of yesterday’s left overs, at today’s lunch.

Cattail Pond (Above and below)

Each trip around the Sun brings a theme, of sorts. Today begins a two-year stretch, centered on the notion of Diamond Jubilee-the road to that date (11/28/25), and the journey on the hard rock plateau, that follows the Jubilee. I’ve been asked, by at least one friend, how my travel plans are shaping up for 2025. The only things that are certain are that I will spend three weeks with my special someone and our circle of friends,in Home Base III, for three weeks: Late January to mid-February. From then on, I will again be in constant travel mode, save for a few key dates in the Spring that will tie things up at Home Base I. The scope and direction of my journeys will depend on what happens in February, but there will be much work to get done, regardless.

For the next few days, though, I am soaking up family love, at HB II. Partly because of my birthday having been celebrated and because of a general celebration of Thanksgiving, I have been in constant touch with friends in Prescott and the Philippines, and by extension, across the globe. It is salubrious and I thank everyone, near and far, who has taken the time to honour my life. It takes three seconds to type a “Thank you”, so that’s what I’ve done. (Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, by contrast, wrote out hundreds of Thank You notes, in pen and ink, after each event to which she was invited, or which was held in her honour. She always was, and is, the gold standard).

Cedar Ridge is a remnant of glacial fingers extending down into the north Texas prairie, and leaving this pleasing network of hillocks and ravines, as a contrast to the sweeping riparian Plains. We had our share of short, but steep, climbs and descents. Thanks to the Audubon Society, I can’t think of a better way to “recover” from Thanksgiving Feast, part I and part II.

The sweep of Cedar Ridge Preserve, Dallas

Thanks, for Friends and….

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November 28, 2024, Grapevine- Today marks another instance of the latest date that Thanksgiving can fall, by U.S. custom. There is grumbling, in some quarters, that this shortens the Christmas season. I, though, am more than happy to have T-day fall on this day in November, because it’s my birthday, and sharing the day with our national community, in our biggest holiday of the year, is to me, a blessing.

There has been, of late, a mini-tempest, wherein a relatively small, but vocal, group has called for the day to be recast as “Friendsgiving”. People can call the day of sharing whatever they want. To me, thanksgiving is not about Pilgrims and Wampanoags, per se, nor about false promises and the resulting oppression.

It is about gratitude-for friends, yes, and for family. I am grateful for all, in Arizona, California, Texas, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Maine, all across the West and across the continent. I am grateful for progressive friends, conservative friends, Baha’i, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, agnostic and atheist friends.

I like the company of my fellow veterans at Post 6; fellows in faith at devotionals, Spiritual Feasts and Holy Days; and my little family, whenever we get together, for meals, outings, board games and watch parties. My life is enhanced by the energy of children and youths, the drive of adults and the wisdom of elders. I treasure the company of the woman I love most, and all of our mutual friends, when I get to see them-either physically or online.

Of course, we must work, diligently, to address and overcome injustice. Let us, though, not replace one imbalance with another. Equilibrium is a delicate state and requires loving attention. It cannot be sacrificed for whimsical ideas, nor for the sake of a contrived sense of “purity”.

I am, as I turn 74, grateful for the Creator’s provisions-our food supply, paths to health, bounty of nature and all the varieties of terrain, bodies of water and living things that make our world such a treasure chest. I am grateful for our solar system and for the Universe, I am just grateful for being.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

The Raven Head Cloud

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August 9, 2024- It placed, almost majestically, peaking out from a bank of stratocumulus this evening, as I drove towards Home Base I, after a visit to Rafter Eleven. Clouds that seem to rise out of others or to rest upon them, are essentially floating on air currents, the way people and animals can float on a large body of water. The Raven Head had a dark, cumulonimbus colour, while the cloud bank, as stated, was stratocumulus.

Ravens are a symbol of connection between material and spiritual, and are somewhat revered by those of us who appreciate intelligent animals with strong recall abilities. The Raven is also the name of one of our most popular live music locations, here in Prescott. So, I took the sight as a sign that the next few days will be safe and productive, as well as spiritually sound. That is well and good, as I will be headed to Scottsdale, early tomorrow morning and could use a problem-free I-17, as far as New River, where I could take a shortcut over to Scottsdale Baha’i Center.

Today was a good day for organizing thoughts and papers, in advance of tomorrow’s facilitation of a breakout session that is centered on advanced applications of spiritual knowledge to social issues. That is not as daunting as it sounds, and we only have 2 sessions of 90-minutes each. Thus, we will be just scratching the surface, as a raven scratches the surface of the soil, looking for hidden nuggets of carrion, or other sustenance.

I was encouraged by the signs that a friend here is recovering from a serious bout of illness. It was also a good day for me, exercise-wise. The local raven quoth “Evermore”. I enjoy being positive.

Flamed Out

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July 27, 2024, Susanville, CA- The river that was named for Susan Roop is flowing nicely. The town that was named for the daughter of the area’s first settler is thriving, despite the fires that plague its surroundings. It is a sprawling, but comfortable town; auto-centered, but fairly easy to walk, as long as one doesn’t mind the 3/4 mile that exists between cross walks, along U.S. Highway 395, in the downtown sector.

I am comfortably ensconced in Apple Motel, with an appropriate scene outside my back window.

Chinese apple tree, Apple Inn, Susanville

The reserved, but kindly, couple were almost apologetic, but requested a cash payment for tonight’s lodging. A fire, started several days ago, by a deranged man who wanted to destroy the forest, is still far from here, but its smoke has limited visibility and activity, from just east of here, southwest to Quincy, and north to Bartle. It has rattled the residents of Paradise, which burned to the ground six years ago. It has closed Lassen Volcanic National Park and is threatening some iconic structures in that national treasure.

I was intending to re-visit Lassen today, along with several dozen other people, but a lunatic had other plans, and so we adjust. I was born under the fire sign, but have spent my life determined to use fire properly, as a tool and not as a weapon. The Wabenaki, from whom I am partially descended, employed fire carefully, to keep forests in order and in a state of health. I have taken that lesson seriously and have acted accordingly, in my own dealings with the element.

This area, from Mount Shasta to Pyramid Lake, strikes me as being sacred ground. It ought to be a place of reverence. Many of the people here in Susanville certainly feel this way-including the owners of this motel, the operators and wait staff at Kopper Kettle, the family restaurant where I got enough food to last me for three meals and the young people who were out and about, making the best of the slightly smoky downtown air. The sense of reverence was clear, in downtown Weed, from which Shasta may be seen, in its glory.

Mount Shasta, viewed from the north.

Reverence was ubiquitous in Old Station, a spot along the Pacific Crest Trail, where through hikers can get a good meal, shower and do laundry (I took advantage of that last one). It even showed in the confusion that a solitary driver expressed, when I signaled to him to turn back on the road to Lassen. It was most evident in the five wildland fire units that headed towards the national park, with the aim of defending places like Manzanita Lake and the Mineral Museum.

Lassen, Chico, Bartle and all threatened points in between, will rebuild from any fire damage-as communities most often do. Paradise has, and will again, if the Park Fire finds its way there. Lahaina is making steady progress, and so are the communities around the Mediterranean that have suffered great loss, in the wildfires of 2022-23. I am an eternal optimist and I am not alone.

Sea to Smoke

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July 26, 2024, Weed, CA- The ranger was on a mission, jumping out of her truck and heading down to a clear vantage point, then scanning the ocean with her binoculars. Whether looking for whales, like the ones who cavorted off Cannon Beach yesterday, or maybe some contraband-bearing boats, or someone in distress, she was quite focused and vigilant. Whatever was going on, Cape Perpetua seems to be in good hands.

View of the Pacific, from Cape Perpetua, Oregon.

I made one more coastal stop, down the mountain at Tokatee Klootchman. The name comes from a phrase meaning “pretty woman”, in the language of the Chinook people, who are indigenous to this area. The spot certainly is lovely, but with a narrow entrance that makes it safe only for southbound vehicles to enter. I spent about ten minutes here, saw no whales in the early morning and left after taking a few shots of the beach.

Limestone beach, at Tokatee Klootchman State Park, Yachats (above, and next few photos).

My next long stop was to be in Ashland, for a return visit to two friends there. This took me through some fairly heavy smoke between Winston and Grants Pass. This was due to fires in eastern Douglas County, between Roseburg and Crater Lake. Visibility was not too bad, though, and the air was much clearer, as I got closer to Medford and Ashland.

At the Weahs’ house, all was calm and the air was quite a bit clearer. I got more encouragement, regarding my fifth, and last, major 2024 journey-to the Philippines, in September & October. They filled me in on the Olympics Opening Ceremonies, which took place earlier in the day-as evening in Paris had been a few hours earlier. Stories of visits to the Caribbean and Cote d’Ivoire were a delight, as was the thick crust pizza. The service dog behaved himself.

Once back on the road towards California, I felt it had been a full day, and so pulled into this small town, near the northern slope of Mt; Shasta. Weed (named for one Abner Weed) is quite forested, and will be a salubrious place to rest. Thus, I am at HiLo Motel,in a quiet room in the back.

Deferred Glory and A Playful Pod

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July 25, 2024, Yachats, OR- As I awoke this morning, up in Kent, WA, and pondered my route for the day, I got a message: Astoria is calling, and you should spend the night in Yachats. The route to the tip of Oregon was easily set, and by 12:30 p.m., I was parked near Flavel House Museum. The place looked interesting, but I had limited time and there was a set of hoops to jump, just to purchase a ticket. I was more drawn towards walking downtown. Besides, my camera was acting up and I couldn’t get a clear shot of the house.

This lovely little park would not be denied, by a brief issue with a camera lens. It was established in 2011, on the occasion of Astoria’s bicentenary, to honour the contributions of the Chinese community in Astoria and the Columbia Valley. Text and art tell the story in a delicate and fitting manner.
Astoria thus bookends with Lewiston, Idaho, in giving the Chinese immigrant community its due as builders of railroads, jetties, canneries and, in Astoria’s case, the sewer system. Lewiston has the Beuk Aie Temple. Astoria has placed its tribute outside.

Astoria also has its funky side, as seen at this Mexican restaurant, near the Cambium Gallery.

At Cambium, I sat and observed a potter at work, for several minutes, purchasing a lovely bowl as a gift for a couple who I plan to revisit tomorrow. As this is a working studio, I refrained from photographing her work.

The last stop in Astoria was at its Column. High atop a promontory, on the city’s east side, is the tower erected in honour of John Jacob Astor, the community’s founder. Along with two dozen other people, ranging in age from 4-86, I made it up 164 steps and saw these views:

Northward
Westward

After descending the stairs, it was time to leave Astoria. Cannon Beach was the next brief stop, and afforded the day’s most heart-warming surprise.

View of Cannon Beach, from overlook to the south.
There, in a deeper cove to the south of Cannon Beach, was a pod of gray whales at play. I was able to gather a group of about twelve people to watch the festivities, so there were a number of photos taken, in the ensuing ten minutes. The cetaceans kept jumping about, during that time of astonishment on the beach.

My last wonder of the day was of a mechanical type: Tillamook Creamery’s cheese factory. The second floor of the creamery offers a viewing of the machines that are used in cheese-making and an explanation of what the human workers, and a few robots, do at each step of the process.

Vats, where fresh milk is heated. Curds are then separated from whey.
Salt is then added to the coagulating mix.
Finally, once the cheese has been cooled and is formed into blocks, it can be cut into smaller blocks or sliced into sheets and packaged. The Blue Octopus is a machine that packages and seals the finished cheese products.
After the self-guided tour, it was time to get to my lodging, so back to Yatel it was. Dinner was down the street, at Sea Note- a relaxed repast of clam chowder, followed by baked oysters and spinach, at bar side. I couldn’t ask for a more comforting end to a great day on the coast.