May 31, 2015, Portland- This is my third visit to the Rose City. I got here around 8:30 PM, after a marathon drive up I-5, from Mount Shasta. The day started with a light breakfast at Seven Suns Cafe, and a brisk walk. I headed north, a little after 11 A.M., after my usual reflections and writing.
My first stop was about thirty miles up the road, in the intriguing town of Yreka (wy-REE-kuh). The pronunciation is intended to distinguish this old mining town from Eureka, the former whaling port on the Lost Coast, about 100 miles west southwest and over the Coast Range.
Downtown Yreka, CA
Near this spot, I took a call from my former client, who was delighted to report that all was well in his new environment. This helped further set the tone for my own fine day.
This is the Franco-American Hotel Building. There was no one about, of whom I could inquire as to the flags. I imagine they may be left from Memorial Day.
Just up the street is MacGregor’s, a book and gift emporium.
Yreka’s favourite son promoted freeways across California.
From his point of view, connectedness meant roads.
Two churches in the heart of downtown, are diagonal to one another.
St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
I bid farewell to Yreka, and to California itself, shortly thereafter. My friends in Ashland, OR were waiting.
I enjoyed a lovely lunch, and a two-hour conversation, with my friends, the Weahs, at their lovely garden home.
The freeway took me through plenty of beautiful mountains and valleys, past great towns like Grants Pass, Roseburg, Eugene, Corvallis and Salem. I did stop in Eugene for dinner at Empire Chinese Buffet, which I would recommend for variety and quality of the food. Nothing was overly heat-lamped, and the attendants were constantly replacing the empty pans.
Portland, though, was my destination, and having connected with one of my friends here, I settled in for the night at the downtown EconoLodge.
May 30, 2015, Mount Shasta- I am at the base of northern California’s most sacred peak,
in a town where Black Bear Diner came into existence, some twenty years ago. The little eatery is still here, and in several other locations, across eight states. So, I had dinner there this evening.
More about that, in a bit. The day started with my little “grand-niece’s” blanket tent being carefully honoured by everyone, including she. After my usual breakfast of cereal and coffee, I bid my Reno family farewell and headed west. The first stop was the Sierra Nevada town of Truckee, both for a bite of lunch, (leftover from last night’s dinner at Pho, in south Reno). and to check out the neat little spot.
Sierra Inn is one of Truckee’s signature hotels.Truckee Hotel is the other.The main street was just starting to stir, on this bright Saturday morning.
On the north back street, there is a cute Arts Center: Kindred Art and Folk Institute
Having been to the performing arts center in Carson City, a few days ago, I am more inclined to notice these places, further along the road.
On the south side of town, across the tracks, runs the Truckee River.
It is about as low here, as it was in Reno, on Thursday.
The grass and meadow flowers are doing okay, though.
I drove on, across the Sierra Nevada, skirting Donner Pass- the site of infamy, in the mid-1860’s, and over to I-5, stopping briefly at Panera Bread, in Sacramento, for a power smoothie. The Sacramento River, seen from the highway, appeared to be running a tad higher than the Truckee.
I made it to Mount Shasta, the city of a few thousand artists, ranchers and dreamers, around 5:30. Finlandia Motel, on the west end of town, was my choice of rest stop for the night. It has a small spa, which gave me a much-appreciated soak, after checking out the town by car and on foot.
The office and lodgings have a fairy tale ambiance about them.I got to play with my zoom lens a bit, over the past few days. The peaks to the west of Shasta (southern Cascades) loom larger.
The town has a fine natural foods market, Berrydale.
A barefoot young man, seemingly in a state of befuddlement, asked where he could get espresso. Berrydale has a small deli counter, but it was 7:30, and even natural foods grocers have to go home at night.
Seven Suns, though, is the main spot in town for fine coffee and tea.
Back to my dinner: I sat at the counter, and was served by an attentive, mature lady. Nearby, a local man was working a crossword puzzle. I was able to give him one of the words, and a man in the booth behind us, gave another. Our conversation ranged from the arcane (He: “Different species of people can interbreed very easily”. I: “That’s because we are all the same species”) to the edifying (He: “I save all my paperwork. When the government came after me, I won.” I: “That’s good to know.”) I learn something new from everyone I meet, it seems.
May 27, 2015, Reno- The sodden ground of Texas has been much on my mind, in this strange, beautiful and terrible end of May. The Red Cross has issued a call for volunteers, both general and specific. Once again, here I am, far afield from the disaster area, wrestling with a measure of guilt and facing my own challenge. Such is the cost of marching to one’s own drumbeat. There will come a time, again, when I will find myself in a disaster area, and will be all-in with the recovery work. For now, that work falls to others.
So, on I go- being here, in The Biggest Little City in the World, for some people who I have known, seemingly forever, and they for me. It will take another day or so for my vehicle to be refitted; then I will take my leave. I hope that, in some way, I will have refitted my friends to address their individual pain-fields, and to be more equipped to cast that pain aside.
Most cities have at least one public garden, where flora of all kinds are celebrated and allowed to flourish. One of Reno’s is the Wilbur D. May Arboretum and Botanical Garden, named in honour of a local philanthropist and rancher, who was a scion of the May Department Store’s founder. It is part of the larger Rancho San Rafael Regional Park. Our visit there, yesterday, took place under partly cloudy skies, in comfortable conditions. Here are a few scenes.
The Duck Pond had two intrepid mallards in it. The often ubiquitous Canadian geese were nowhere to be seen. It being a strange year, that is somehow not surprising.
After stopping by the Visitor’s Center, and confirming as to the reason for the dearth of waterfowl, we continued to the Arboretum and Botanical Garden, proper. St. Patrick’s Grove greets the visitor, and extends along the sidewalk.
The stone shamrock reflects, with its cracks, the experience of Ireland.
The Labyrinth Garden is small, and mainly features ground cover, around the intriguing maze-like circle.
Passing into the Arboretum, we came first to the Kleiner Grove, featuring oaks of the East Coast.
A small area is set aside, in honour of Wilbur May’s mother. The bridge, and adjacent waterfalls, express Mrs. May’s tastes.This waterfall was available for photographing. The other was the focus of another patron’s deep meditation.This abandoned water slide lies just east of the park.The Songbird Garden was rather quiet, but then, it was mid-afternoon.These fountain stones evoked Carnac, for me.Light and shadow have a reassuring effect.
While finishing up our visit, I thought of Blucher Park, Corpus Christi’s downtown nature walk, which feature’s that area’s native plants. It was lovely, this time of year, in 2012. I wonder about its condition now, after the tribulations of last weekend. Corpus saw its record for wettest month broken, this past weekend. It apparently did not suffer as much as places further north and east, but the pain is there, and the community lost one of its own, in floodwaters near the town of Uvalde, west of San Antonio.
We continued on, this afternoon, to Reno’s Riverwalk and downtown.
May 24, 2015, Carson City- When I have been rendered less mobile by circumstance, and it is a weekend, my tendency has been to go with whatever flow that presents itself. Memorial Day weekend is not time for automotive shops, or many other business establishments, to carry on business as usual. Besides, the weather, almost nationwide, is pretty horrific right now.
We had a beautiful morning in the Reno area. The plan for today was to visit with other friends in Carson City, Nevada’s capital, some twenty-eight miles south of Reno. It was not a heavy schedule, but a picnic lunch and some playtime for a three-year-old, at a park on Carson’s north side. Here are two scenes of the park, with children and families left to their own devices.
Our little friend had a great time, going up and down a couple of slides, and around other parts of the playground. She was very much interested in the mushrooms which were growing near our picnic table, though not to the extent that lunch was ignored, especially with the doughnut dessert waiting after bites of cold cuts and cheese.
As an afternoon storm began rolling in, we went back to Carson friends’ house, kibbitzed a little about a cheesy, semi-adult cable TV show featuring robots trading barbs with a guy in a Starship Troopers get-up, and headed back towards Reno, using Hwy. 395.
The route took us past Beagle Rock.
We checked out Big and Little Washoe Lakes. The former was little more than a puddle and in fact, Little Washoe is, at present, the larger of the two.
“Big” Washoe Lake Little Washoe LakeLittle Washoe Lake
May 8, 2015, Prescott- We had the odd experience here today, of being colder than parts of Canada. Snow swirled here, outside the classroom window, for about twenty minutes, and stuck on the ground, in the surrounding mountains. It’s supposed to be twenty degrees warmer by Monday, so the moisture will be useful in staving off wildfires- at least for a month or so. It was also gratifying to see that the mountains of southern California also got precipitation.
It will be an unusual May, in this regard. I am quite sure we will see more rain, between now and Memorial Day. It remains to be seen what this means for our “monsoon” cycle, though I’d be happy to see it be wetter than normal as well.
Weather has been weird, worldwide, and for several years now. Some blame carbon dioxide, and I’m certain that excess gas emissions of all kinds, from CO2 to methane, don’t help. There is also the shifting of the Earth’s magnetic poles, which I am convinced is happening, little by little, so that by the time my yet-potential grandchildren are seniors, say, in 2080, they will be in a rather different world.
It seems already happening, though. Another friend mentioned that the populace of Maldives are fleeing their island homeland, in droves. People in Kiribati, Tuvalu and the Marshall Islands are eyeing property in more spacious, less-threatened places, like Australia, New Zealand and Fiji. The shifting may be affecting the world’s fault lines, thus adding to the dynamic stress that brings about earthquakes-great and slight.
We are surely in for more excitement than some would like, and can expect feast and famine, precipitation-wise, to alternate, with more volatility than the New York Stock Exchange, over the next half century. Don’t put away the longjohns, or the summer wear. Get used to layering; it’s the new normal.
May 2, 2015, Granite Dells- I spent the day immersing myself in better health practices. Around 10:30, I set out to this dazzling blend of rock, water and greenery, to pay a call on a natural healer and anthropologist, who calls herself Happy Oasis. She lives with her husband, John, in a delightful two or three acres of land, known as Heaven on Earth. Happy has been all over the planet, in the course of her twenty-five year career, yet she has chosen, and fought hard for, this sublime paradise.
Thanks to her efforts, there are trails aplenty where there could have been condos too many. So, Happy and her associate, Jack, took thirty of us on a walk of discovery- to meet the wild plants which can be foraged for sustenance, in the ecosystem of the Dells. It rained a bit, as if to bless our jaunt.
Here are some scenes of this unique experience.
The home of our hosts is a work in progress, after a fire took out its predecessor. They are nothing, if not multi-talented.
Here is a slippery elm, with its full supply of salad greens.
I don’t remember what the next several plants are, but they are safe and taste very nice.
Here is a mustard plant.
THIS, however, is loco weed. It is highly hallucinogenic, if ingested.
Happy, in front, showed us about a dozen plants that can sustain a person, in the wilds of Granite Dells.
This flowering plant is often called prairie rose. It tastes fine, flowers and all.
Here are some of my classmates, as we enjoyed the fruits of nature’s labours.
It was one of the loveliest of days, so far this year. In late afternoon and evening, I visited with a friend and essential oils colleague, encouraging her in teaching a class on our oils. The day left me with the knowledge that there is more good in our future than not.
May 1, 2015, Prescott- The fifth month of the year always finds me taking stock of my assets, making concrete plans to consolidate my possessions, and downsizing, prior to a summer of journeying and carefully living in balance. This summer will take me to Nevada,Mt. Shasta, the Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, southeast Alaska and back down through the Palouse, Idaho and Utah; then to southern California, after a brief July 4 respite here.
For someone who values survival skills, I am a bit wet behind the ears. Tent pitching and foraging for food are my immediate concerns, as is mastering the art of inflating an air mattress. See, I have put up my tent,had it stand for five or six hours, then woke up and found it hugging my face. This needs to stop. I like sleeping under the stars, and still will, whenever prudent. Being that I will share space with Alaskan brown bears, for a few days in June, I think a solidly pitched edifice will better suit my circumstances.
Later this summer, Grand Canyon hikes and jaunts along the Mogollon Rim in AZ and New Mexico, will afford me the company of a master woodsman. These days will prep me for a 2017 thru-hike of the Arizona Trail, as will this Fall’s earnest completion of the Black Canyon Trail, over four stages, from Bumble Bee to Lake Pleasant Road. The Prescott Circle will finally be unbroken, and the Maricopa Trail beckons, in Winter.
All this crossed my mind, after a day of hearing the woes of a teen boy who has a serious crush on a lovely young lady, ten years his senior. It will go nowhere. The woman has a good man in her life, and besides, that’s where crushes are supposed to go. I used to be there, though my crushes, early on, found more contemporary focuses. He will, as well, no doubt.
After making a brief visit to a school whose constituents and staff observed its last “birthday” as an institution, I came home to find that the man I had befriended, and tried to help, over the past seven months, was actually a wanted felon. He was being taken into custody, as I pulled up to my driveway. I pulled in, through the neighbour’s drive, and was informed that he had vandalized my upstairs neighbour’s property, thus the collar. I have no idea what he is accused of doing, previously, but this does explain the hackles I have started to get on the back of my neck, as the day for taking him up towards Las Vegas approached. Now, that is no longer in the works. I have some of his possessions in my back storage, and his vital papers in the house. These will all stay put, and untouched, until the legal process plays itself out.
So, I begin this fascinating month, hopeful, energetic, and chastened about human nature. Tomorrow, I brush up on foraging and go to help a dear friend, one who can be trusted.
April 17, 2015, Prescott- I returned an item that was particular to my Kia, and got money back, that will be useful tomorrow. A few hours later, I returned to a neighbourhood trail, the Turley Trail, named for a man who was instrumental in starting the Prescott Circle, which begins at “P” Mountain, east of town, and goes in a 360 around the Bean Peaks, Sierra Prieta, Thumb Butte, Granite Mountain, Pioneer Park and our northeastern lakes, then back towards Lynx Lake and again to “P”.
The Turley is 2.5 miles, one way, and traverses four ridges, before ending at a Prescott Circle marker, in a forested ravine. I’ve written of it before, but here are some views from yesterday.
“P” Mountain is not directly accessible from this point, but it’s quite an inspiration, nonetheless.
Here is the gap between the first and second ridges. This is a moderate hike.
On return hikes, I focus more on the small. Wildflowers are a bit past peak here, but still captivating.
The quartz and granite caught my eye, at several points along the way.
Finally, here is a cave, which I don’t remember seeing last time.
It’s probably an animal lair of some sort, so of course I contented myself with this particular view.
Finally, the journalist David Brooks was on NPR, discussing his book on returning to a community-centered ethos. More on that, later.
April 4, 2015, Cherry, AZ- On any given day, there are hundreds of possibilities, for both good and ill. I set out this morning for Tonto Natural Bridge, looking to explore the northern approach to the Bridge, via Pine Creek Trail. I had gone the southern route on my first visit, last Fall. The link between the two is a six-inch wide ledge, that is navigable by hugging the rock face, for about three feet of trail. I have declined to so navigate. My purpose in hiking is never bravado or machismo, but understanding.
I spent about an hour there, looking at the remnants of a waterfall, above Pine Creek, and walking along the creek, going through the small caves above it and marveling anew at the Natural Bridge.
The slight sprinkle of fluid, at the “waterfall” is not done justice by a mere photograph.
Pine Creek Trail, on the other hand, means lots of boulder hopping, along the creek bed.
The basalt, which makes up much of the area, may be examined up close.
This is the consummate Southwest- constant interplay between rock and water.
Small caves abound, north of the Natural Bridge.
You may see the first of my confirmations, as the two ledges meet.
Segments of the Bridge show escape hatches for the light.
I stood, contemplating the Natural Bridge, for about ten minutes, while encouraging those who had selected to traverse the narrow ledge between the north and south sides. I can’t see the thrill, but they felt it.
After a satisfying lunch at Early Bird Restaurant, in Pine, I headed over to Pine Trailhead, for a five-mile roundtrip intro to the Arizona Trail.
Actually, I have walked about three miles or so of the Trail, in Davidson Canyon, near Tucson. The Trail itself runs 807 miles, 795 of which go directly from the Mexican border to the Utah state line. The other twelve miles circumnavigate Flagstaff.
I chose Oak Springs Trail, which takes one across Highway 87, over to a Reservoir and up to a ridge line.
Spring is springing! These looks like hounds tongues, but I could be mistaken.
There was no mistaking the horned lizard, however.
I rested at this little nook, just east of a reservoir, called Bradshaw Tank.
I did not go all the way to Oak Spring, choosing to save the majority of this magnificent trail for another time. There were some anomalous sights on the way back: A memento of a previous hiker’s visit;
A scene of life that is emerging;
and finally, my second confirmation of the day.
I headed back down towards Camp Verde and Prescott, after that.
There is an interesting pullout, on the way up to the Mogollon Rim, at Mile 13 of the General Crook Highway. This area is closely associated with the unfortunate conflict between the U.S. Cavalry and the Tonto Apaches, as I have explained in a 2012 post on Fort Verde State Park.
Thus was the interplay between light and shadow. Little did I know, driving down the switchbacks and along I-17 towards Hwy 169, and home, that this drive would likely be the last, for my trusty Kia Optima. Its brakes locked, as I approached the stop sign at the 169 just a bit too fast, and ended in a ditch. Two hours later, my car, shattered windshield, deployed air bag and all, was in a tow yard. I was at home, explaining to those closest to me, by phone, what had happened, as my client listened and offered his own support, while organizing his possessions for Monday’s move. The State Patrol and the judge in Mayer are sympathetic, but still say I need to take an online Traffic Safety course. Yes, indeed, officers, and Your Honour. I will take the course, treat my scrapes and scratches, work with the insurance company, get back to mobility and not take anything for granted, ever again.
March 29, 2015, Jerome- After a difficult morning, largely due to my dealing with a few internal conflicts, I headed to this mountainside former mining town-turned-tourist mecca. Jerome, as a whole, and my chosen lunch spot, Haunted Hamburger ( a bar and grill), are not the sorts of places one goes for emotional support. Those who live here are a tough breed, so the affirmation I got from the wait staff was- “Yep, tough it out” . I chose that route, anyway, so I found the meal enjoyable and left right after eating, as the place was way full of tourists- another reason the locals tend to be short, in the listening department.
Driving back up Mingus Mountain, I decided to explore the north peak of the mountain a bit. A four-mile round trip hike along Woodchute Trail was what really restored my equilibrium.
A restoration project, Powerline Meadow, is found at the beginning of the trail,just east of the road that makes up the first half-mile of the route. Livestock and vehicular traffic are banned.
About a half-mile further, I met a couple and their two children, with an eight-week-old puppy, who had walked with them to the nearby ridge, from which there are exquisite views of Sycamore Canyon, to the northeast.
I wonder how much the little dog saw. Nature seems to like togetherness, at any rate.
I know what I always enjoy seeing, besides the greenery.
I also find, when my chemical imbalance gets in my way, as it did once yesterday and a bit this morning, is taking a few drops of a soothing essential oil, and rub it on my neck or forehead. The return to equilibrium is almost immediate. It is a blend of frankincense, patchouli, Roman chamomile, sandalwood and lime oils. I find that, the more severe the zoning-out or disconnect, the faster the blend works to bring me back to where I need to be. I don’t mind sharing this here, as anyone else who is autistic, or someone who has OCD, panic attacks, or even mild schizophrenia, can benefit from applying this oil blend. As with our other products, there are no side effects and it does not counteract medication.
Now that day is done, I feel like, between “Haunted Hamburger’s” get-with-the-program tough love, my walk in the woods and the doses of this blend, I am ready for a busy and successful week.
