April 4, 2017, Prescott-
Three rivers converged,
burying some bodies,
and taking others into the maw
of the Amazon Basin.
Five nations’ armies converge,
blasting some innocents to smithereens,
sending others into the maw
of pseudo-Islamic madness.
Four men converged,
in a sultry neighbourhood.
One killed another,
sending America into the maw
of an outpouring of grief,
which the nation has yet to overcome.
April 3, 2017, Prescott- Things were relatively tame at work, today. The wild child was determined he wouldn’t be a nuisance to me, and did his absolute best to focus on his learning. Supervisor A was reasonable and co-operative, saying that the next eight weeks need to see us all united, as a team. These were both welcome preludes, to what I intend to be a successful end of the academic year.
Mother Nature sent Prescott a whopper, this evening. As I began walking downtown, an intense microburst swept through, with the high winds knocking down tree limbs and a brief, heavy rain coming down, just as a planned conference call was coming in, (guess what didn’t happen), and I was stepping inside Marino’s Mob Burger. Dinner was lovely ( zuppa avgolemono, with pita slices), and I was able to wait out the worst of the rain. Walking over to Sprouts, and along my favourite backstreet, on the way home, I felt safe and composed again, despite the light, cold rain.
It doesn’t take much to keep me happy, in reality.
March 26, 2017, Prescott-
I am starting, just starting, to emerge
from a heavy coat,
after several false springs.
My last flowering,
which itself went to seed,
six years ago,
was followed by
pollen-blowing winds.
Tests came,
and the sacred dust settled,
across the middle
and to the south
of this continent,
in the west of Europe,
to our northwest
and Alaska.
I have felt a warm sun,
and plentiful water,
in each place, where my pollen dust has landed.
The seedling is poking through, yet again,
in a new spring.
Much of the pollen,
has stuck, right here,
yet there is a rich amount
that is settling in a place,
one hundred fifty miles or so,
to our southeast.
Friendly gardeners are tending me,
everywhere I feel.
There is wonderment, though,
as to where I will take root,
in this new spring.
March 13, 2017, Oak Flat, AZ-
The young couple were a bit taken aback, as I returned to the campsite, where my tent was set up. They hushed their small, annoyed dog, as I explained I had been at the campsite for a while and had gone to town for dinner. As they were car-camping, and the campground is free, we were all fine with each other’s presence. Besides, after some banter, I left them alone, and was content to watch the stars and think loving thoughts. The campground reflected those back.
Before all this, as there were about 45 minutes until sundown, I took a stroll along an easy trail that led south and west from the campground. A free spirit, whose own goal was explore all the National Forests west of the Mississippi, had pointed me in the direction of a spring, which he said was a good two hours’ hike from here. I took the stone path out of the campground and shortly found remnants of another of General Stoneman’s outposts.
Rhyolite and obsidian abound, in this part of Arizona, as you will see further in “Devils Canyon” (I prefer the name, Queen Creek Gorge, but to each their own.)
Stone walls were built to last, in the 1870’s.
I like to pay respects at memorials to the local departed, wherever I go. This cross honours the wife of an Oak Flat native.
The campground is of further interest to me, because there is a controversy over just how extensively a planned underground copper mine will be allowed to run, underneath this immediate area. There are concerns about depleting the water table and about creating a giant sinkhole, under the current campground. There is some debate, even among Native Americans, as to the sacredness of the site to the Apache Nation. Several protesters have set up a camp, within the campground, featuring traditional Apache dwellings, called wikieup. The environmental and archaeological concerns are valid, as is the need for work, among the residents of Superior and outlying areas. I would probably favour a scaled back mining enterprise, with careful attention to the water table and to honouring any burial sites that may be found.
March 12, 2017, Prescott Valley-
Gathering on a sunny morning,
we studied the Word of God for this Day.
A group of card players came,
and asked if they might use the room,
in which we were gathered,
as it was a large room,
and there were only a few of us.
We were glad to oblige,
and moved to a comfortable alcove.
The comfort of our neighbours
is not a matter of life and death,
but it MATTERS.
Across the globe,
dozens of people,
living in an Addis Ababa slum,
returned to God,
when an avalanche of refuse
collapsed upon them.
The survival of our fellows,
IS a matter of life and death,
and it MATTERS.
March 10, 2017, Prescott-
God has graced man and woman
with one another.
Most children are blessed
with loving parents.
I have been so graced and blessed,
since before I was born.
There are, however,
those, of both genders,
who neither grace their mates,
nor bless their children.
They, of both genders,
who beat their mates,
who abandon their children,
either physically or emotionally,
what do they suppose
happens to those they discard?
There is no human refuse.
Whoever gets left behind,
by those they love,
gets picked up by someone else.
Teachers, social workers,
volunteers, family members,
sometimes,
even neighbours, take up the slack.
Most are good-hearted,
but sometimes,
they are more of the same.
The question begs:
How can anyone look at a child and not love him/her, unconditionally?
We have so much work left to do.
(This was motivated by the report, out of Chicago, that a woman brutalized and killed her granddaughter. She was found guilty today. It was further motivated by today’s findings at work.)
March 8, 2017, Prescott-
Some thoughts on the occasion of International Women’s Day:
Women, at least from what I can see, want what men want-
Respect, dignity, appreciation, the right to strive, the right to achieve, the chance to succeed, avoidance of typecasting.
I would not be anywhere near the man I am, were it not for Mother’s diligence in her job.
I would be far lesser a person, had it not been for my wife’s undying love and encouragement.
I would not be as loyal a friend, had my sister not been the true and loyal friend she has been, for 64 years.
My world would be bleaker, without many female friends, ranging in age from ten to eighty.
Much is still made of beauty- but it is the kind of beauty radiating from within, that sustains any person, in perpetuity.
Comely women need to be viewed as humans, with the same needs and wants as anyone else, or the viewer is missing a variety of points.
When a task requiring many hands presents itself, a full crew of both genders is the most productive.
I shudder at a world, in which women are barred from exercising their talents and faculties.
Blessed International Women’s Day!
February 27, 2017, Prescott-
A little observation about the Academy Awards:
Seems there was confusion about envelopes.
Perhaps colour-coding is in order.
Colour was, in itself, not an issue tonight.
The ceremony was bathed in full Moonlight.
The auditors, though, remained in LaLa Land,
jarred only by the stunned expression
on the face of Warren Beatty,
and the concern for justice,
in the eyes of Emma Stone.
Mahershala Ali calmly waited his turn,
knowing, in his heart of hearts,
that the prize was his own.
The gauntlet has now been run,
and the people have won.
Oscar is no longer a grouch,
the voice of reason has spoken out.
Facing reality has trumped sweet escape.
Several notions of beauty,
now leave the beholder agape.
February 25, 2017, Yarnell-
A lone cactus wren croaked, as I came up the first stretch of hillside, on the way to the spot where, on June 30, 2013, nineteen formidable men met their doom, while working to safeguard this small community at the southeast edge of the Mohave Desert.
I encountered a moderate trail, whose increase in elevation is tempered by long switchbacks, frequent stops to read and ponder each of 19 memorial plaques, set in stones along the way. Wooden benches and informational signs also provide respite, for anyone who finds the place more strenuous than anticipated.
Yarnell Hill abounds in granite boulders, much as does the back country between here and the east side of Prescott, nearly 50 miles away. One of these boulders resembles a praying monk. It is one of the first sights greeting the hiker, on the way up from the trailhead, 1 1/2 miles southwest of Yarnell’s center. He stands, as lonely as the wildland firefighters must have felt, on that blazing final day of June.
Each man left people in grief- parents, a loyal woman, young children, siblings and entire communities, from Prescott itself to places as far afield as Oregon, Idaho and North Carolina. Each man is immortalized by his own plaque. Crew Chief Eric Marsh founded the Granite Mountain Hotshots, and was responsible for the recruitment and training of the men he led, for ten years, in the aftermath of the Indian Fire, which came close to obliterating downtown Prescott, in 2002.
I know some of the family members, of four of the Hotshots. Each of the families has a solid work ethic, reflected in what their sons, brothers, husbands and fathers gave, however long their terms of service were.
The terrain that presented itself, that blustery, torrid weekend, was no gracious host to anyone hauling 50 pounds of gear uphill. It was, as I say, of moderate difficulty for me, with my 15 pounds of day pack, and for those between the ages of 15 and 75, who I encountered along the way. A couple of ladies said they found the trail scary. I could easily figure out which places to which they were referring, though long ago, I stopped fearing secured heights.
Following, are some scenes of just what the wildland fire crew faced, in terms of terrain. Three red-tailed hawks circled, above this rock.
Notice the charred mesquite, above, and the manzanita, below.
Unlike today’s hikers, the Hotshots had to pick their way up granite-strewn hillsides.
The town they were working to save survived, and will be a more vigilant place, with regard to fire safety. Like the boulder below, Yarnell shows a large, if broken heart.
I continued from the main trail’s overlook, at the two-mile marker, to the memorial at the fatality site, another 3/4 mile to the east. At the site, 19 cabions encircle 19 crosses, one for each man who gave his life that day. Some mementos have been left here, as well as at the flagpole that stands 500 yards to the east.
I sat here, in the wind, contemplating the meaning of sacrifice, while a lone woman circled around the memorial, lost in her own thoughts. It is said that the mystery of sacrifice is that there is no sacrifice. That can be understood, but, I would venture, not easily by a small child who wonders why Daddy went away.
Long may the heroes comfort the grieved, from their own private Valhalla.
February 19, 2017, Prescott-
It’s sunny/overcast, this morning, as is often the case in Prescott, after a day and night of heavy rain. My phone tells me how things are, weather-wise, in Phoenix, and in Busan, as well as here. It’s a fine thing to keep tabs on my son’s environment, with the aid of the second frame. Korea is a bit milder than Arizona, at the moment.
We old vets talked of earning one’s keep, and of game plans for our years ahead, at this morning’s breakfast. I am optimistic, as to my own situation- for the simple reason that I don’t plan on sponging off anyone. What this means, in practical terms, is that I will, as I’ve said a few times, work full-time until either December, 2020 or May, 2021, then take a couple of years for personal pursuits, helping my son with his efforts and traveling- in a mix of discovery and service. After that, if health allows, I would be glad to return to service-related work, such as I am now doing. TIME Magazine, in this week’s edition, posits that elders will need to consider several “retirements”, interspersed with work, unless/until infirmity sets in. I am pretty much covered, thanks to my late wife’s foresight and our son’s personal vow, in the event of my own infirmity.
Children inspire me, first and foremost. Besides those with whom I work, day to day, there are little souls, incidental to my life, the thought of whom lifts my spirits. There are my grandnieces and grandnephews, looking out at me from the side of my refrigerator, and whose exploits are regularly relayed by their proud grandparents, my siblings. The little neighbour kids, brother and sister, bring me to my picture window, whenever I hear their voices and the wheels of their mini-vehicles, from the alley across the way. There are 5-year-old “Boo”, my surrogate granddaughter, in Nevada; her age mate, “B”, in Juneau; the now 11 and 12-year- old sisters from Belgium, who were just full of mischief, three years ago, when we were in a dining car restaurant, in Bastogne; the spirited middle schoolers from Koln, Germany, who enlisted my help in a “take home” exam, in Brussels’ Grande Place, during that same cross-Atlantic jaunt; my nearly 13-year-old sponsoree, “I”, working diligently at his studies, in the Philippines; countless youngsters who have weighed in on matters great and small, in chance encounters during my travels.
The other main source of inspiration is human resilience, which I see every day, in people of all ages and backgrounds. My cross-town friend, “M”, toughed out some very lean years, as a single parent, before finally arriving at a place of stability. My cross-country friend, “K”, slept many nights, God-knows-where, before getting her own apartment, finding an honest means of living and a man who loves her. A once-homeless man, whom some of you may remember from my posts of 2014-15, now has a steady income and reason to get up every morning and smile.
I believe in the Law of Attraction, and its eleven related laws, as surely as I believe that the Arizona sun will dispel any clouds, no matter how thick they may seem.
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