Category Archives: Community

The Road to 65, Mile 351: Marmalade Chicken and Old Bullwhacker

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Posted by on in Community, Hiking and Nature, Inspiration, Matters of Faith

November 14, 2015, Prescott- The nice thing about most Saturdays is that they tend to be the most open-ended day of the week. Today, for example, gave me a chance for a haircut, though not to visit the Farmer’s Market.

The trade-off came with the commemoration of one of our greatest Holy Days: The anniversary of the Birth of Baha’u’llah. As I explained a day or so ago, we Baha’is now observe this Day in tandem with the anniversary of the Birth of Al-Bab. The spiritual power of these “twin” Holy Days has yet to be seen by humanity-at-large, but it is felt by me, and millions of others around the world.

About twenty-five of us gathered at the home of a retired physician and a retired pharmacist. We shared the account of Baha’u’llah’s early life and several prayers, then enjoyed yet another fine Persian repast, prepared by the ladies. Among the particular delights were two types of chicken: Rosemary and marmalade. These give me two more ideas for the crock pot, this winter. Lamb meatballs were also delectable, but it would take me lots more practice to get those done right.

After tarrying and conversing with my fellows-in-faith, a bit longer than usual on a beautiful afternoon, I headed home, changed clothes, and course, hitting the trail on Segment 7 of Prescott Circle Trail. The northern half of this segment occupied me from 3-6:30 P.M., and takes in about 4.5 miles, between Watson Lake and State Highway 69.

The area is one in which I have driven several times a week, while glancing over at the wilderness between several industrial parks and one of our major shopping plazas. Today, I got to walk that wilderness. Largely scrub oak forest and tall grass, it traverses an old city landfill, now home to a medium-sized herd of deer, and a pristine valley, looking somewhat like a bowl, carved by two creeks, over thousands of years Here are some shots of the northern half of Segment 7.

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This is a southern extension of the Peavine Trail, part of the Rails-to-Trails Project.  It follows an underpass at the junction with Prescott Lakes Boulevard, the connector road from northeast Prescott to State Highway 69.
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This scene, and the next one, are atop the former Prescott landfill, now left to area wildlife, and their admirers.
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This crushed rock bed serves as a drainage medium.
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Coming down off the landfill site, I crossed this dry wash, then went past the Yavapai County Justice Center, a juvenile court. There was no activity there, today.
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Several bicyclists shared the trail with me today, coming quickly downhill, into washes like this.
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This area, west of a WalMart, of all things, is as quiet and unassuming as any woodland in Prescott National Forest, some three miles further south.
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From the ridge above the “bowl” seen above, I had this view of the hazy hills to the west and northwest.
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Atop Old Bullwhacker Hill, I saw the southern half of Segment 7.

At the foot of Old Bullwhacker, I found another copse of trees and a dry creek bed, between two shopping centers.

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This trail leads to a culvert, through which one may pass under the busy AZ Highway 69.

As I was wending my way back to the Peavine Parking Lot, I got a call from Aram, filling me in on some news from his end. After a ten-minute conversation, I looked down and saw this little affirmation, from the Universe.

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The Road to 65, Mile 350: What Paris Taught Me

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Posted by on in Assistance, Community, Inspiration, Travel

November 13, 2015, Phoenix-I spent a good part of the day here, taking my third and last Elementary Certification Test. While my day, to and from this bustling city, was peaceful, Paris’s Friday was the opposite. DASH, or IS, or whatever the relics of medievalism call themselves, cast the City of Light in mayhem and blood.

With 129, or more, innocent people slaughtered, I am on my knees in homage to the great city, which welcomed me in June, 2014. My adulthood has been late in blooming, and Paris gave me some key lessons, in that regard.

I learned: Two very different places, within the same city, can have the same, or very similar names.   So, I trudged up the hill, to beautiful Montmartre, only to have a tourist office clerk patiently explain that my hotel would be found on Rue de Montmartre- down the hill, in central Paris.

I learned that French people can be quite annoyed with a visitor’s foibles, yet still provide fine service- this at my hotel, and again at the France Pass counter, in the west train station.

I learned that, even if one is slightly less than punctual, a tour guide is willing to take one into the group- once. I didn’t chance being a few minutes late, the second time, though.

I learned that I was fully capable of catching, and dodging, the various ruses used by the “Gold Ring Grifters” and the subway “Card Swipers” (whose “service” consisted of swiping one subway ticket through the card reader, in hopes of a 200 Euro tip.)

I learned that Paris, with all its majesty, its splendour, its sheer humanity, has room for one more, regardless of background, status or appearance. I also learned that its Metro cars are not like those of Tokyo. There are no pushers, cramming people in. On the Metro, the one more must often wait for the next train.

Still and all, when I return to Paris, perhaps in the summer of 2018, or five years hence, I will find a welcoming presence, expecting one who is a bit wiser in the ways of La Luminee. We shall not disappoint each other. I feel your sorrow, your pain, mon coeur.